I wrote this 10 months ago (20 August, 2024) and then, my passion for blogging died out. For those that follow me on instagram, I wrote about being me again. I feel like me, again and it has been gruesome. There was so much introspection I had to do as a human being and the light at the end of the tunnel was my envisioned self ablaze. I have found peace in knowing (and accepting) that life happens to everyone and I wish I could be more encouraging.

The last 10 months have been me having to constantly pull myself from under the rubble and I am grateful for that version of me. I have been meaning to write but those words were buried somewhere I could not reach. So much has happened since I have been away and this will be (hopefully) my last very personal post.

I am okay. I can finally say I am okay and not be lying through my teeth. It has taken a minute but I am here. I am present. I am grateful. I am me

I am blank as I write this and only hope that as I string words together, it will all come together and make some sense. I had so much hope for this year and I know it hasn’t ended yet, but it sure feels like it has ended for me.

10 years.

For 10 years, I had a clear vision of what my life trajectory would look like and yes, there have been curve balls and a lot of grief but never have I mourned the lives I could have lived. I have never looked at my life with as much regret as I have in August, and that regret has pierced so many things inside me. I have found myself constantly frustrated, constantly on the verge of tears, and just inches away from completely falling apart.

The universe has been kind, and I have stumbled but never stayed down for too long, but this time feels different.

Maybe it is something in the air, or how reading ‘Artemis Fowl’ doesn’t seem to do the trick anymore. Retail therapy is effing depressing, music is an annoyance I would rather do without and my bookshelf is full of books slowly collecting dust.

This is my second writing of August, and it is incoherent, a rant, and so full of emotion. My life has been falling apart in more ways than I care to count yet some things have stayed constant.

I have felt grief before, but how do I forgive myself for the lives I could have lived? How do I move with the weight of the misfortune of my failed attempts at such lives resting on my shoulders? How do I speak to myself with kindness? Trust myself to carry new dreams and new hopes when I could not carry one this far?

I can’t help but see all the ways I could have done things differently, all the mistakes I made along the way. And in those mistakes, I see my reflection, distorted and unkind. How do you love yourself when all you see are your flaws?

I know that I need to be patient with myself, that healing takes time, but there’s a part of me that’s scared I’ll never get there. That I’ll always carry this weight, this regret, and that it will keep me from ever truly moving forward. It should be unheard of healing from a dream but here we are.

For now, I’m mourning the loss of this dream, of the life I thought I would live. I’m grieving the person I could have been. But I’m also trying to hold on to hope, to the possibility that there’s still a future out there for me, even if it’s not the one I envisioned