The Darkest Timeline
It was a little painful rereading my last blog post. I was so naive and high on my own self-care regimen of yoga, mindfulness, and kicking ass at roller derby. The optimistic glimmer of someone hoping to fall in love with someone they’re head over heels about was just under the surface of all my words (I know this because I wrote them, even if you can’t see it). I had all these creative plans, guys!
I now reside in the darkest timeline. The TL;DR version of life over the past few months is as follows:
- I broke my ankle, but ended up winning the MVP Jammer award for the 2016 season. It was super weird being on crutches and having someone bring me a little trophy that more or less said, “Well. You used to be awesome at roller derby. Now you’re broken and can’t walk down stairs anymore.”
- The daily yoga routine has gone down the wayside, even now that I’m regaining mobility and can do the poses again because my motivation is tapped.
- I had purple hair for a hot minute which was fun and should be celebrated. Please see the image below of me meeting a person with purple hair at a wedding because we had purple hair at the same time and that’s how you do, apparently.
- There’s more, but it is all tied up under general depression following the passing of my father.
I don’t know how to properly describe what I’m going through, because oftentimes my feelings about my dad are buried under general dismay or getting upset about stupid stuff that doesn’t matter and my friends are sick of hearing about (yeahhhh starting to date someone just before your dad dies? Have you tried don’t? To say that didn’t end well is an understatement). My meditation has all but stopped and my ability to concentrate on my manuscript is depleted. I know these things take time and I’ll feel like myself again, but the juxtaposition of feeling so great about every aspect of my life just before my father’s untimely and tragic passing seems cruel to me. Whenever I think of that time I feel so far removed from someone with the ability to feel that content. I know there is a lesson here I will find when I’ve lived it long enough, but I would like to skip this class please.