All things must end somewhere

I started this blog 7 years ago, and for most of this period it’s been a pretty great creative and emotional release for me. This blog is where I worked through a divorce and the loss of a friend. This blog is where forged ahead into uncharted territories and new experiences.

But this blog is also where I dealt with having my heart-broken on three separate occasions, and this blog is where I spent huge chunks of time while in the throes of my depression.
In the past year or so, this blog has become dark…darker than I ever wanted it to me. While I have my moody and bleak moments, my life is also full of laughter and joy and love and friendship…yet none of that was ever reflected here because I had used it so earnestly to record the sad moments…I just couldn’t bear to come here during the good.

This blog doesn’t really fit me anymore.

I’ve been toying with the idea of starting anew, but finally took the plunge for a fresh start. New blog, new name, new publishing platform! I’m pecking away at it bit, by bit, but it’s finally up and running!

www.BeyondMyRubicon.com

My Instagram and Twitter profiles have changed too! I’m now @BrandiBeyond at both!

Sometimes

Sometimes I remember to remind myself just how awesome this little life of mine is. I’m surrounded by the most awesome, loving, funny, intelligent people that a girl could ever hope to know. My apartment is a sweet little space with walls that are all my own, a soft bed to rest in, and the loveliest little creatures inhabit my rooms with me.

Every night I take long walks to the park that has become by backyard, sit in the grass, and enjoy the view of the reflecting pond.

Every day I step out of my comfort zone…if only inch by inch.

At least I’m not standing still anymore.

Slow Burn

The past couple years have been a series of little implosions.

With each passing heartache, I pick myself up, dust myself off, and begin the process of rebuilding.

But each time, the building up is a little slower, a little more labored, and a little less me than before.

Sometimes, at that moment I know I need to pick myself up, I just sort of go limp in the heaviness.

Today I had someone ask me if I was happy. I sat for a moment, ready to give the standard-measure answer to a question that really boils down to a passing pleasantry.

But I just couldn’t do it.

You see, I’m at this fork in the road of life. I’m not unhappy, but I’m not really happy either. I just constantly feel like I’m treading water and not really getting anywhere to speak of.

Going through depression changed me, in ways I am still to this day figuring out. Before, I thought of depression as a blanket of sadness that you just threw off one day, and you were no longer burdened by its heaviness.

But it isn’t.

Depression is a slow burn. If you turn away from it, just for a second, life is fanning the flames for you.

I think that’s been the headrest part of getting through this past year…the little pricks of sadness just below the surface. Sadness you can’t bear to constantly face, and sadness you can’t turn away from.

Sadness you just have to learn to accept as a casualty of being human.

 

Slow like honey, heavy with mood.

When I was in grade school, we took a trip to a children’s farm. We spent the day petting goats, riding horses, and soaking up sunshine.

At the end of the day we made our way to the hay maze, our final destination before the buses took us back to our classrooms.

We started out as a group, but each twist and turn and false exit whittled the group down one by one. We each progressed through the maze in our time. Because navigation isn’t my strong suit, I was one of the last people to exit, and when I finally emerged to that finish line…I was alone.

I didn’t really understand it then, but every time life has thrown twists and turns at me, I think back to that maze. I’d like to tell you that I remember persevering and sticking with it until I finally made it through. I’d like to tell you that I remember feeling exhilarated at finally conquering a huge obstacle. I’d like to tell you I felt proud.

But I didn’t. I felt alone.

In a grand scheme, that trip to the farm gave me the biggest life lesson I’ve ever received. You will finish, but it will be in your own time, and you will probably be alone when you reach your destination.

Knowing yourself, truly knowing yourself to the bottom of your core, is a journey that only gets lonelier as time marches on. Learning what makes you tick means casting aside the things that keep you from ticking. Learning what you want means purposefully leaving behind the things that you can’t lay claim to, and realizing your capacity to make others happy means walking away when you know you have nothing else to give.

And it’s a journey that you must ultimately travel alone.

Recently I had to make some very tough choices, the kind of choices that you half-regret every day and fight the desire to pick up the phone and attempt to undo everything.

The kind of choices that leave you alone.

Singularity is a tough to pill to swallow, especially for someone like me who truly embraces being around others. I keep telling myself, with each little hurdle and each broken heart “it’s all for the best.”

I cling to that. I clutch that notion tightly.

I worry, you see. I worry that in the end I’ll be the lonely person who knows herself the best. I worry that there’s a veritable line in the sand that divides the happy from the overly self-aware. I worry that there’s a happiness in a type of ignorance that my quest for understanding doesn’t acknowledge.

I worry that I’m just the type of person who is prone to introspection…to the point of isolation.

Perhaps the biggest irony in this is how much I love being around other people.

But love can’t conquer everything.

Knowledge is power, and the view is lonely at the top.