Inspiring Me Now

  • "The Purpose of Life is to Be Happy" Dalai Lama

March 26, 2013

Dear Ms. Bullshit

I’ve been trying to write, but everything I write seems to come out lackluster and dusty. I’m not in a good mood. I have no desire to write about embracing the positives and making the most of the moment. I even went back and read some old posts last night, looking for self-motivation, usually that will do the trick. It didn’t work. After I read them I felt more like writing a comment back to myself:

Dear Modern Day Mary,
Cut the shit, we all know how hard breakups and life changes can be and vomiting sunshine out of your mouth onto a blog page, is not an accurate description. While I do believe your feelings in your posts are genuine, I’m not convinced it’s an accurate portrayal of how you feel most of the time.
Let’s be real, most of the time you’re exhausted. It literally takes every ounce of your strength to pull yourself out of bed in the morning. Putting on makeup is an idiotic chore – who wants to look at you anyway? Brushing your teeth in order to paste a clean white fake smile onto your face makes your “real” inner-self cringe. You’re letting your laundry pile up, no notices what you wear anyway, right? 

Your only respite comes from work. You can throw yourself into endless emails and task-lists. You can put your headphones on and drown out the world around you. For 8 hours out of your day, you have a reason NOT to think about him. Five-o-clock comes too soon. You’re almost looking for an excuse to stay, some reason not to go home to your lonesome apartment. You don’t want to go out though either. You’re tired of putting on your “I’m OK. No really, I’m fine” face. You don’t want to repeat again “I’m sure this is for the best, besides, you never know what the future brings”. Fuck that! You don’t know if this is for the best, in fact every fiber in your being tells you different right now. If you could snap your fingers and go back to your happiest time with him, don’t lie; you would.

 Instead you put your coat on and head out towards home. This cold weather doesn’t help a hurt heart. Once you get home, you’re back into your lonely routine: take the dog out, feed the guinea pigs, make something for dinner, take a shower, watch TV, read, try to go to sleep. 

Sleep, you hate sleep. You used to relish a good nap, now you’ll do anything to avoid letting your subconscious take the driver’s seat. Instead you read novels with graphic depictions of war and violence. You avoid anything with a romantic undertone. Love is for suckers, you think. Love isn’t for you. Every time you take down your walls and open your heart, someone leaves. It’s a funny thing how long it takes to take down that wall and how quickly you can build it right back up, always stronger than the last. 

Finally, you let yourself drift. You try to think of all the things you have to do at work tomorrow. You make lists in your head. You try not to wonder where he is, who he’s with since he’s not with you. You force yourself to imagine the worst. He’s probably asleep next to someone else right now, someone cuter, skinnier, funnier someone that makes him content with the decision he made to leave. He’s probably wishing he would have done it sooner, he’s probably wishing, after the fight you had, that you had never been a part of his life to begin with. Sometimes you need a good sucker punch to the stomach before you can give up the fight and walk away, even if that sucker punch is self-inflicted and completely non-factual. 

It’s late now… or early if you will. Only four hours left until your alarm rings. Only four hours to let your mind take over. Only four hours until you can wake up and make it yours again. So you succumb to the sleep, only out of necessity. Eventually, you feel yourself wake. There’s that brief millisecond when your consciousness hasn’t caught up to your brain. When you feel like everything is fine. If only you could float in between those seconds all day. Your brain catches up. You pull self out of bed. Only 4 more work days to go, then the weekend – a beast all of it’s own.

Admit it, Mary - that's how you feel MOST of the time. Maybe admitting it to yourself will make you move forward. Best of luck on your future endeavors. May you be graced with a time when re-reading this will stir no bad memories, instead only trigger happiness. 

Sincerely - 
Your reader