The tragedy of feeling lost is that sometimes you don’t even know until you are found.
Ever since I could remember I have always felt kind of lost. Just kind of bouncing through life being whomever I was needed to be at the moment. That was always someone different for different people. I was constantly trying to change my personality into what people liked. I think that’s why when I look back on old posts and pictures I can’t identify with the person that is there. I have no idea who I was in that moment or to that person.
That feeling of who the fuck am I became so strong once I realized my relationship was ending.
At that point in my life I had tied my identity to that person that thinking about a future alone where I would have to actually become my own being was so fucking scary. Will people still invite me to things? How long will they keep asking for Jon? Will I discover anything new about myself? Am I letting the best part of me go? Who am I without him?
And then I would lay awake for hours paralyzed with fear.
I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know what parts of me from my past were genuine and I didn’t know if what was left was me either. I was lost. No one knew though. Not even me, truly. Because I would wake up the next day exhausted but still smiling and getting through whatever it was I needed to for that day. I was there for my friends, took care of my pets, showed up to work, booked hella sessions. And I just kept moving.
And all the while my world was staying still.
It took until I came across some old photos of me from last year to truly understand how mentally drained I looked. I can physically see how sad I was! How uneasy and unbalanced but how amazing I was at hiding it. Knowing everything that was going on in my life but still seeing me live brings pain to me now. And still I have to ask myself was that me?
Am I truly destined to constantly feel lost?
I feel that way some days. I question what I am doing, who I surround myself with, or even just am I being genuine? When I talk to people am I being who they need or am I being myself? How do you even know?
And then some days I feel like I have found her. Catherine, who honestly only likes being called Cat and loves cats, and Summer, and photography, and softball, and watching an episode of Forensic Files for the 100th time and loves when people are honest with her and loves walking in nature with good conversation and watching people play video games and tattoos and sex and feeling sexy and laying in bed and working out to be strong and concerts and theme parks AND I AM SO FUCKING SURE I HAVE FOUND HER. SHE IS THE ONE. She is right there and then I cry feeling so sorry for the girl I let suffer all those years trying to suppress HER. Not realizing that SHE was right here. Right inside me. Waiting for her time.
And then I feel loved. So loved by me. I want to see that girl thrive.
And then I find ways to suppress her. Nobody is going to like her, that’s not me, they don’t know me but I can’t be her. I have to be lost, otherwise how else will I survive?
Because that’s all I know.