If I could describe my life in a word right now, it would be "complicated." According to the Merriam Webster Dictionary, the word complicated means "consisting of parts intricately combined." That speaks true for my life, but I know it speaks to others, too.
Some of what the complication has arisen from rests in the fact that I am a perfectionist. I tend to want everything, from the wrinkles in my shirt, to my grades to be perfect. Reality gave me a slap in the face last year when I realized that I wasn't perfect, but that had yet to stop me from wishing and hoping to be just that. My mom, the pastor says that "only Jesus was perfect." But me, the realist, thinks that even he could not have been perfect for the time.
I am also, as recent memory and blow ups show, a hypocrite. There are times when I say one thing and do the exact opposite. It is a shot to my ego to admit that. Yes, I try to come off as having my life together, but that can be hard when life is plastic and I am a natural force. Sometimes, in a joking fashion, I do go against the grain that makes up my belief system. The jokes, though, are a way for me to escape my own demons inside of me.
My anxiety, too, shuns people and things that have the capabilities to be something special, away. I don't mean to push people away, it, like a thunderstorm, just happens. I am like most women and want to see myself conquer certain aspects of the world, but anxiety puts a significant limit on me and what I can conquer. I would love to sit here and say that I am "more than my anxiety," but I am not. Seeing that in writing is quite scary.
My life is complicated, and honestly, the things that I listed above are self reflections that I sort of hate about myself. While it is a daily struggle for me to accept these things, I work hard to try to avoid them. For the people that have stayed with me, though, you mean the world. I can honestly say that I would not be the woman I am today without your constant love.
I am proud of the person that I have become, but to the people who I lost along the way, I am so sorry. I know that I can sometimes burden you with my complicated life. I know that I am a handful, a bunch of daisies that are bound to die off. But my guilt, my sorrow, and my hope that I will one day find peace never cease. Yes, there have been people that have forced me to low places before, and today was not an exception. Saying that I "don't have anything" makes my heart cry. But I am always willing to forgive, just as long as those that I do burden don't forget.
This complicated life can sometimes be hard to find something to find solace in. The thing that always does it for me is literature. Lately, works from the Romanticist era seem to speak to me more than they usually do. That is especially true with Wordsworth. One of Wordsworth's most famous poems is "I Wondered Lonely As A Cloud." He writes:
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;"
In this complicated life, I not only find my own bliss with solitude, but in knowing that I am never truly alone with literature. The complicated stories that I sometimes feel are too complicated to exist, do in books. Reality is complicated. However, knowing that a character, be it a fictional one, "gets it" is truly something magical.
Life sucks. Read more.