I haven’t written on my blog in months. I haven’t abandoned it. I just haven’t had the words to say, I haven’t had the energy to convey how I’ve been feeling about anything. However, I felt compelled to so today.

I want to think that I’m this person who is capable of talking about her emotions… but the truth is, I don’t know that I am anymore. Somewhere along the way, that part of me was stolen and I’ve never fully got back that ability to do so.

I feel betrayed and confused by my own emotions, I can barely trust myself anymore. Where did that part of me go? Why has it gone away? It’s like my own brain is gaslighting me. I feel crazy in the sense that I don’t remember how to feel things. I don’t know what it means to be vulnerable anymore. I hate crying in front of others. Even expressing it through writing (be it texting, or even this blog), has become so difficult. I hate that, writing was always my outlet, and now I feel like it’s become something slightly suffocating. Exposing myself and all my confusion is one of my worst fears. I don’t want to confuse others with my own confusion, so I just keep those thoughts and feelings inside.

Today is the first time I’ve cried (more like sobbing) about something else other than my mothers absence. There is no doubt that 2020 has been the worst year of my entire life. I’ve lost my mother, I’ve lost connections to those close to me, I’ve lost the connection to myself. How do I get that back? How do I get any of that back? The truth is, I can’t. I just have to move forward and build my life back up with all the rubble in front of me from the tower that collapsed. I can reuse some of that rubble and form it into something new, but it’ll never be built up back the same.

I don’t know how to make it make sense. My confusion hurts me so much. I’m afraid to be affectionate. I’m afraid to be intimate in any kind of way. I hide away from it now. It’s difficult. I don’t always want to be this way. Something in my heart and soul shifted and it’s like all the sadness finally and truly fused within me. I’ve always been one who finds comfort in sadness, it feels like home. This is the only way I know how to express these difficult feelings inside of me. But it’s been hitting differently this past year.

Losing my mom truly shook up my world. I feel like throwing up if I think about it for too long. I go through the 5 stages of grief more often than not, and I don’t think that’ll ever stop. The severity of pain and grief will come and go. I have accepted that. But I’m fragile. And I’m afraid to show that to anybody even though they know this has happened. It doesn’t directly affect their lives though, so they can go on with their own life, until it happens to them.

I once told him that the song “An Act of Kindness” by Bastille encompasses everything he is. And it still applies. He’s nauseatingly (not literally) refreshingly selfless, all wrapped up in a slight saint-like manner. It makes no sense, but it’s the best way I can describe him. There’s not many people I can rely on, but he always shows up, even when I’m not expecting it. He’s the personification of the Cloak of Levitation. I don’t have it in me to say this to his face, but I know he’ll read this.

I hope I can one day have the strength and courage to speak more upfront, freely, and openly- not only to him, but to other people in my life that I love.

I don’t know if he really listened to that song, or read the lyrics. Even sharing songs and attempting to explain their significance to me and what it means feels like pulling teeth. I listened to it again for the first time in a long time and tears immediately begun streaming down my face unstoppably.

I feel stupid describing how I feel. I hate this. I hate that I’m writing this out. I don’t want and don’t know to explain it because it doesn’t make any fucking sense. So here I go, closing myself off again because this wave of emotional distress in every way is too much. I become immobilized when I open up. Nothing I say comes out right. The fear is too much, and it’s swallowed me whole. This was an attempt to talk about how I feel, and I think I’ve failed. I can’t make it make sense.

I feel undeserving, unworthy, and guilty. And yet I don’t know how to express my entire gratitude because it’s just simply not enough. It’ll never be enough, and I don’t think I’ll ever be enough.

I can’t guarantee that I’ll write again before the year ends. I want to try and return to writing more. But it all just seems and feels so redundant. Who the fuck wants to read this kind of garbage over and over again?

If you don’t hear from me, I hope you have a lovely holiday season, and I hope that you have a happy new year. I hope 2021 is a better year for you, if your 2020 has been just as horrible as mine and you’re praying for a shred of light in this world of darkness.

Take care of yourselves.