After my situation, I’ve become less and less interested in the things that I used to do, but I’ve gotten more interested in new things. It’s like some kind of switch flipped. I don’t like doing my digital creations anymore. I haven’t even drawn anything traditionally in a couple of years.
I don’t like being on social media so much. I still post, but it doesn’t have the same hold on me that it used to. Now I just catch myself doom scrolling through videos instead of making meaningful posts.
I think I’ve reached some kind of midlife crisis. I need the interaction, but in real time. The bad part is…since we move around a lot, that type of interaction is almost nonexistent. Hence the crisis.
I don’t really feel like myself anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that, either. Things that used to make sense to me just don’t make sense anymore. It’s like I kind of wasted the first half of my life, for some reason. I know it wasn’t wasted, and I know there are other people out there who wish they did the things I have done. But something is just missing.
Don’t get me wrong. I still love my life. I love the travel. I love seeing new things. I love meeting new people. I love being married to Sven. But something about me wants a little more permanence. Not in what I do, but more about the people I see. I think going back home just made that even more in the foreground of my thoughts.
Having gone through what I went through, I think… I’m not really sure what I think, honestly. It’s like I need something more now. All of this temporary stuff just isn’t sitting right with me anymore. I think cleaning my studio and going through all of these boxes getting ready for packing again is making me feel things that I’m confused about because I’ve never felt this before. I don’t even know what it is that I’m feeling.
I’ve been using all of my time lately for crocheting. I think it’s because I can kind of get lost in myself while doing it and when I’m tired of being lost in myself, I can just concentrate on counting. The counting quiets the voices that are telling me that something is missing.
I know I should probably be seeing a therapist about all of this, but at the same time, I don’t really want to tell strangers about all of this. Hell, I don’t even want to tell the people I know about all of this. It just is something that I wrestle with in my head by myself. I’m only writing all of this down because I need to get it out somewhere.
Sven has been nothing but supportive over all of this and I feel a little bit bad for him because I don’t think he knows what’s wrong, either, and it has nothing to do with him. It has everything to do with some kind of inner demon I’ve got going on that has me feeling like everything could end any moment and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything in life for myself, by myself, from myself, to myself. I am always something else: I am Shirley‘s daughter. I’m Carly‘s mom. I’m Sven’s wife. I’m not me; hardly anyone knows me for me. I tried being myself through art… yeah, that didn’t work.
I don’t feel like this is the same depression I had years ago. This is something else. I mean, I feel depressed, but it’s not the same. I feel like this one is justified in some odd way. But I don’t want it to be justified.
Don’t worry, I’m not a danger to myself. I’m not gonna do anything that I’m gonna regret. I just needed to vent.
Now that I’ve gotten all of this out, I feel so much better. Maybe I’ll come back and read this again another time. Maybe it’ll make more sense to me and I can fix it.
Signing off for now.
