Some days

On occasion, I have those days where I feel 100% wretched. Last week ended with said wretchedness, a slow spiral into an abyss of self-pity. Do you know those days? They're usually the ones that end in tears, refreshing, cleansing tears. Only two days ended in tears, and they were sort of forced just to get the yuck out of my system.

Work was boring, and I felt isolated in my tucked away little corner. Marcus was leaving town for the weekend. My friends were busy. The "Australia hates me and I hate Australia" feelings started to rise, though thankfully they went away without getting to an alarming point. This country has certainly been a hard one to adapt to and my efforts don't seem to have paid off as much as I'd like...but I persist. I've been trying to stop the self-pity and try to look at things from another angle, but haven't read nearly enough positive-thinking self-help books lately. :)

Though when these shite days do roll around, you can be sure that my journal pages will be filled with positive mantras, scrawled with a bit of rage (and self-pity) and without fail I feel better after having done so. It seems to be widely accepted that meditation is the best way to maintain positive flowing energy, and if I could make myself sit down and try it on a more regular occasion without giving in to my A.D.D., it would certainly help. But I do give into the restlessness. The one thing I have been good at for well over a decade is chronicling my feelings and frustrations in writing. Journal after journal has been filled, first with the angst of adolescence, high school crushes, and family dysfunction; then with the first steps of living on my own, working my way through higher education, and relationship issues; and since then my ventures on the post-college life, my first "real" jobs, and the quarter-life crisis which still seems to come in waves.

I have been chronicling my life since the age of 10 and it has become a huge source of comfort in many an uncomfortable situation. In a family that talks more than it listens, it became my primary mode of self-expression. When my soul aches, I reach for a pen.

So I suppose it's completely natural that when I want to correct the imbalance of a bad day, my journal is the place I go. It's filled with plenty of bad days, but it's also the best way to combat these bad days because I can actually see the words I want to resonate within myself. It's like letting out the bad day in reverse. I release the bad on paper, only half-aware of the stream of consciousness, then firmly (half-crazily, at this stage) write out the changes, the positive things I want in myself. I am happy. I will not let invisible obstacles stand in my way. I have courage. I am happy, I am happy, I am happy. The positive re-absorbs into my system and starts creating the change from within. It becomes ingrained into my unconsciousness and somehow it comes to be.

There's something about the written word that resonates deeply within me. Perhaps it's because it has been my friend for these many years. Perhaps it's because it's the key to a world I have never known, giving a description but leaving the imagery to me. Maybe it's because I love words, definitions, sounds and language. Or maybe it's because it allows me to communicate in a world without barriers, where I can say anything I want. I can express any feeling, desire or emotion without guilt or consequence. Maybe because in a world where my established support system is so far away, it provides a safety net.

It's Monday. I'm back at work, busy, and Marcus gets home tonight. I have friend dates sprinkled into the week and I'm feeling more centered. The wretchedness has passed and I hope that I'm stronger on the other side. But journal, my wonderful friend, I know you're there if I need you!