happiness
As another year comes to a close, in true Ashlyn fashion, I’m being rather introspective. I haven’t written much this year and I can only attribute it to the fact that as my entire life was coming together, it was also falling apart. I have written a million blogs in my mind this year but just lost the courage to share my feelings.
This time last year I made a list of things I was going to do in 2021. I pinky promised to show myself empathy, to own my body and learn self acceptance, to not apologize for my feelings. I did none of those. I still fucking hate myself and I’m really flirting with the idea of a relapse so I still apologize for everything because I hate the fact that I take up any type of physical or emotional space.
However, we can celebrate the fact that I did not meet my insurance deductible this year and not once did I step foot into an eating disorder treatment facility!
This year I felt a lot of things.. a lot of really shitty things. I felt betrayal and loss as I spent the majority of my year falling for someone who never once had the capacity to love me. I felt the most anger I’ve ever known as I waited everyday for that person to see how deeply they hurt me while slowly, and continually, coming to terms with the fact that it might not ever happen no matter how badly I need it. I felt pain both emotionally and physically. Early this year I went to the hospital with the deepest and largest self-harm wound I’ve ever given myself. I now live with a massive scar on my body that pretty much lets everyone know that I’m not stable. I’ve gone on and off my meds this year.. medically advised and not. I’ve experienced the most debilitating anxiety. I’ve made a lot of friends and lost some too. I’ve cried so much. I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) more than 60 times. I have hurt.
This state of recovery includes some of the most emotionally draining and miserable days I have lived.
In my ever-so-dialectical manner, I’m succeeding in ways I could have never imagined when I was staring out of a hospital window just two years ago. I took eighteen credit hours this semester and brought my GPA up a considerable amount. I moved to more of an “office intern” role at my campus job after receiving a pay raise. I worked in my first undergraduate research lab; I hated every second of it but still made a great impression on my advising professor and was invited to continue in the lab. I went from holding a director position on the council of my college’s largest all-female organization to being elected as the incoming 2022 president. That’s a big deal. I added a major so that I will now graduate on time and should finish college with a double major as well as a double minor.
From the outside perspective I’m kicking ass. But one of the few constants is that I’m not happy.
My life is so full- you should see my Google Calendar- but it feels so empty. My position titles and the important work I’m doing don’t feel like they mean as much to me as they “should.” I never feel full.
Something I’ve learned a lot about this year, in regards to myself, is that I desperately long for meaningful connection. I have loads of surface level connections but my entire being yearns for more. Yet, I really suck at fostering meaningful connections. I am the hardest damn person to get to know because I am convinced that any vulnerability I show will used as a blueprint on how exactly to hurt me. Without shaming anyone, my history shows that the people I am closest to are the people who hurt me the worst. So here I am navigating a world where I am trying to actively seek connection while also doing every last thing in my power to ensure my emotional safety. Those are two heavy loads to carry at once.
So that’s where I am after 365ish days. A successful, emotional wreck with a brain that says the only fix is to starve myself. But.. this year I am able to speak my truth without hiding the bad or ugly moments that aren’t so picture perfect.
