In process of fixing a broken brain.
It really IS that damn phone.
I can’t read more than a few sentences of a book before I’m bored of it.
I can’t recall what I did just an hour earlier if you were to ask me.
I can’t retain a simplistic moment from my life I recall fondly while driving, once I’m able to park and jot it down.
I don’t know who I am anymore or what took over my body, but I don’t want to wade blindly through my life anymore.
I used to be someone I admired.
I was a little girl who read multiple books feverishly all at once, truly getting lost in other worlds and leaving her current one behind.
Poetry and haikus would spill out of me often, because I felt so much all the time!
The younger version of me would keep notebooks near as an extension of herself. Filling the insides as if she were decorating her very own home.
She was a different being entirely, and I miss her. So so so much.
That’s why I took a week to begin exploring how to find her again.
Lately–for months and months now–days pass me by bleakly unfelt, and I try forcing myself to live. To act. To sit down in front of my computer to type bs just so I can build some type of discipline muscle that leads to progress I can grasp. But it never feels good; I’m never glad to have done it.
Existing in this numbed-out, passive state has led to a catalyst of deep exploration to learn what in the world is wrong with me.
And luckily, a string of videos and a book or two may have started me toward a path of healing the fragments of my brain that have bled into a life I struggle to enjoy or remember.
I'm starting to understand where this all began; it’s an obvious problem, but also something hard to shake when it’s helped you for years as well.
The internet built me, saved me, and ruined me.
The more chaotic and unstable our lives became when I was younger, the harder I gripped onto my only safe space: the internet.
From 16 to 29, life for my family was chaotic and unstable. I felt like I had no say in anything happening in my own life, nor any semblance of autonomy over it or my future
The internet became a place I could consistently turn to for a self-expressive outlet. I would go to forums and eventually Facebook groups where I’d make friends and find support when I’d be at my lowest and couldn’t talk to anyone I was surrounded by.
Without realizing it, the internet morphed into a dependency for me in a dangerous way when I needed it most. As I became a caregiver for my mom, I searched for ways to create a business so I could make my own money, desperately wanting to have the final say in the decisions I dreamt of making for my life.
I’d carry my phone with me everywhere, because caregiving for eight years meant I was on-call 24/7. It was a feverish attempt at building an escape plan: I’d join business course Zoom meetings on my phone, consistently keeping one earbud in my ear as soon as I woke up. Or log on to Facebook groups or forums to see if I could answer anyone’s questions or inquiries, whether they were asking me or not.
I’d listen to podcasts or audiobooks any time I could. I’d always have some form of media on–especially during the years I’d share a small bedroom with my mom, because I didn’t want to hear her court and home-improvement shows blaring in my ears day and night when I wanted to build something more.
I learned to live with overstimulation until I couldn’t think for myself anymore.
Fast forward to now, where I struggle to remember to take a plastic water bottle sitting right in front of me downstairs to the recycling bin.
Ephiphanies slip through my fingers. Dribbling down before I can form it into something grand.
I can hear my own thoughts trying to convince me that journaling and documenting things I truly want to is actually a waste of time and energy. Even when the convincing wins, I never prioritize any other action, leaving me feeling aimless and disappointed with myself time and time again.
My boyfriend will ask me about my day, or what I did for the evening, and I rarely know how to answer because I always feel like I’ve done nothing at all.
Despite not spending time on Instagram, Facebook, or TikTok, I still feel like time after work flies by and I’m not doing anything I can recall. I’m just sick of ending every single day feeling unfulfilled and not knowing where my time goes.
I’ve tried “things done” lists, but a lot of the time the lists are filled with maintenance tasks rather than anything that makes me feel like I’ve made progress toward anything in my life, or makes me observe the daily life I’m living.
I guess I just wanted to set the scene for now. Tell you where my mind’s been.
I’m kinda curious if you’ve felt similarly.
Next time I post, I want to share what I’ve been diving into that has been helping me change how I show up in my life, what I disconnect from, and why. Being constantly stimulated and online served me once, but they’re tools I no longer need to that same extent.
Especially when I want to reunite with a version of myself I missed and had to tuck away in order to survive.
She can safely come out again, and I hope to connect with her soon.