For some reason, right around Thanksgiving, I question everything I'm doing and everything I am.
It's like climbing a mountain ever year, and as soon as the snow hits, I slide right back to the bottom of it.
I'm learning that the valley is a good place. I make the closest friends here.
It slows me down, and it forces me to face my imperfections. I become real - something I have a gift for escaping, and have had ever since I was twelve years old, sitting in the car asking my dad, "what is 'me?'"
I woke up in the middle of the night last night, sprawled between my bare mattress and my comforter (I was too exhausted to get my sheets out of the dryer last night when I got home), staring at the ceiling. I felt like I was seven. 23 year old women should have sheets on their beds. Time had stopped, and I gave myself five minutes to hate everything.
To hate that I'm 23 and in an inconvenient limbo between child and adult.
To hate that I'm selling myself short in school. That I'm still in school.
To hate that I'm a workaholic and have missed out on a lot of life.
To hate that I'm not half as good at anything as I want to be.
To hate the way people perceive me, and my inability to communicate who I am.
To hate that I had no interest in getting out of bed in three hours for anything.
To hate that I come to this place, over and over and over.
I'm 23, and still asking what is Me.
In the shower this morning, the shampoo bottle was a million miles away from me. There was a gap between my finger tips and the tile that was making my head spin. Some part of me was infinitely objective, distanced from everything I was in physical contact with. Hello, preposition.
When I find myself here, it is easy to believe that I am the only one. To believe that no one else feels this distance, and that everyone else is in tune with life, except for me.
But it's not true. We all experience this. And we all hate these same things.
I have no guarantee that quitting my job is the best decision or that taking anti-depressants during the winter is a good idea.
When you don't know anything, you fight to find what you do know.
And this is what I knew, at 3:30am. God has never failed me, not one single time. I am loved and protected and he will be my dad. He is worth trusting. I will never be homeless. Joy does not come from things. He knows me better than I know myself. He has given me a compassion that fights to get out of my chest and he will do so, in his way and in his timing. Every time I've worked towards something, I've obtained it. Worrying is pointless. I am blessed. I know that I desperately love people. Every struggle I've been through has always paid off. I've always come out better on the other side. Always. I know that as hard as things are, I love my life.
Desperation and insecurities are gifts. I am thankful for them.
Here's to December and finding out what kind of lessons are learned through meltdowns, failure, freaking out and persistent joy.
- - -
I'm going to make this incredibly brief. There are few men I respect, few men whose writing gets my complete attention, and few men who are still fighting.
Go add this man to your blogroll, rss, google reader, bookmarks - whatever it is you do.
Max Dubinsky's mind is something worth keeping tabs on weekly. He has invaluable perspective.
We do a lot of talking about fairly weightless things. MakeItMad isn't one of them. Make it your job to talk about Max. I want to see his name everywhere.