I hit “publish” on the last cryptic post on this blog in December, but the events that led to said post and my year-long hiatus happened right around this time in 2015.
It took me three months to absorb them adequately enough to write a cryptic post telling you I didn’t know how to tell you about them.
It took till now to bring me to this point, where the words have returned and I know what I want to say with them.
My official “what happened over this past year and what’s up next” post is still in the works, and will likely be approximately a bajillion words long if I ever decide to publish it. (I may just reference things in future posts rather than spend a bajillion words wallowing in the whole thing en masse.)
But to get you up to speed, here’s the CliffsNotes version:
What Happened Over the Past Year
- My husband’s disability application hit the 2.5 year mark, around the same time our savings hit the zero mark and the debt I’d worked so hard to eliminate years earlier reached the “ridiculous” mark.
- I returned to the 9-to-5 — the exact precise 9-to-5, down to the same effing employer and the same effing desk, I had escaped so jubilantly in 2013, because I thought that was what we needed.
- I hated it.
- I hated who I found myself becoming.
- I stopped writing, here and altogether, because there was no “me” anymore to write through — or at least not any sort of me I wanted to think about or acknowledge.
- I found another 9-to-5, one that on paper had everything a 9-to-5 ought to in order for me to be able to accept it like every “normal” adult was supposed to be able to do.
- I hated it, too.
- I was still someone I hated, only now with the addition of traits like sobbing uncontrollably at inconvenient moments such as 1) in the shower where my husband couldn’t hear me, 2) behind my closed new private office door on my lunch break, and 3) whenever I was awake.
- My marriage started to crack.
- I started to crack — or, rather, to finally admit I’d been cracking, bad, since I gave up my freelance business, and it was only getting badder by the day.
- Our finances were still in the gutter and I realized I’d sacrificed everything I ever cared about or believed in for basically negative progress.
- I texted Crisis Services one night. When they asked me if I ever had thoughts of suicide, I responded, “I don’t want to die; I just don’t want to live anymore.” I thought at the time this made a difference.
- One Monday morning, I unceremoniously Broke The Fuck Down. My husband called my crazy doctor. I was in his office within the hour receiving a short-term disability note for my employer and wondering in a numbly detached sort of way if that meant I could finally spend the rest of my life under the covers, which was all I really wanted from existence at that point.
- We realized we needed to sell our house. We subsequently realized the only place we could currently afford to go was my husband’s parents’ house while we regrouped and restrategized.
- I lost my job. I still had 2-3 months of recovery before I could consider working again, according to my crazy doctor and my gut.
- I was oddly OK with this and with my newfound lack of any future beyond the immediate. This began to tell me something.
- I did a fuck-ton of resting, and healing, and thinking, which is still an ongoing process but now I feel a little of myself coming back slowly, and now I can write again and have lots of things I want to share with you.
So here we are.
What’s Up Next
- I’m starting over. With this blog. With my life. With my freelancing. With a second, new blog this past year has made me realize I need to create.
- The rest is yet to be discovered, but I’d be supes happy if you’d come along for the ride. Because I think we had something pretty awesome going on here, and if this past shitstorm of a year has taught me anything, it’s that I was a damn fool to abandon it.
Let’s do this thing, 2.0.
I missed the shit out of you guys.
Image: Mr. Connor / Flickr
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