The process of unraveling.
For the first time in two weeks, I have slept properly through the night. I’ve woken up and gotten out of bed, I’ve returned to read my Bible then 50 pages (straight!) of a non-fiction book (thank you Kamara) and I don’t feel as much like shit as I have every other day. It’s a start.
It’s been exactly 2 weeks today since I finished university (pending award) and while I’m insanely proud of myself (as you should), I’ve been weighed down by what to do, what to do, what to do. Where do I go from here? I’m packing up my things slowly to go where and to do what? And equally important, will my next phase award me the space and a room of one’s own as I have now?
When I got into my choice uni for masters, I was both elated and incredible sad. On the one hand, I actually got an offer to the only place I applied to. But holding the letter in my hands, it felt like a cop out. A really good course, yes. Insanely exciting, yes. But ultimately a rash decision to avoid figuring things out (for myself). My deferral, much like the acceptance letter was both good and bad. Good because, yay, a break. Bad because, well, that’s a year to bask in the fact that I have nothing to offer of myself. I nearly said I am nothing but that’s not nice and that’s not right.
It feels like floundering in a pool despite knowing how to swim. Granted, not very well but still. The days move as a slowly as they do rapidly. There’s no job, no house (though I’m hopeful I’m getting closer to the latter) and this house, this haven will soon be gone. I get it, decisions have to be made and life has to go forward. And I’m being a lot harsher on myself because we are in a pandemic after all, but I can’t help but feel like with every passing day, I’m letting myself down.
It’s funny. As I type this, the verse of the day just came through:
‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?’ (Matthew 6:25 NIV)
It’s even funnier because over the past two days, I’ve received signs if you will, and the recurring message is let go. That’s a struggle. Because what does that mean? How do you not worry? How do you let things go? I’ve been avoiding discussions and friends and family in a bid to figure it out by myself. Because I don’t like not being in control and yet, it’s not working out. Every second not doing is time wasted and yet the energy to do things isn’t there.
‘I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.’ — The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
I’ve been a shell of myself for a long time now. And I don’t like the idea of life forcing you into positions to learn, so maybe I’m just going to learn what needs to be learnt of my own accord.
So where am I right now?
Well, I’m about to reread Waiting To Exhale, if that isn’t a fitting novel for now, I don’t know what it is. A toast, to letting go and inviting goodness. Let’s get it.