We always hear about being extravagant with spending. With objects. With treasures. But what about the other areas of extravagance? Have you ever heard someone talk about extravagance with character? Recently (last week, actually) someone told me to my face that I am a failure. It really hurt me a lot, and as that person was close to me, I was upset for a while. It was unexpected, and admittedly, I was moping. But then I realised that I have to pick myself up. I can’t let words hurt me. Even though they carried pain and the person showed no regret and even had the nerve to speak them to me again (on Christmas day, nonetheless), I had to turn the other cheek and not absorb this harshness. Because what would happen then? I would sit on it. Simmer on it. Maybe even believe it. And trust me, that would not have been a difficult feat; I had already begun to believe those words soon after they were spoken. I chose to move on. To ignore. Knowing that I simply was not mentally ready for another breakdown and more importantly, that person was not worth it. I think that to carry on, when faced with this situation, took strength. And whether or not I would let those words affect me, would prove to me how much I believed them in the first place. I am not a failure, so I carry on – and vice versa. In this way, I think I showed extravagance. Extravagance of strength. Of mind. Of dealing with more adversity. And I don’t think it’s too much to say: I am proud of me.
Cozy Cosy is not a place, and does not really exist. It’s more of a state of mind than anything else. The feeling of contentment that sweeps through you, and when I say ‘sweep’ I mean sweep. It is fleeting and you don’t even notice it, ironically because of how content you are. It is a feeling of utter warmth. Of calm. Of peace. Despite the deadlines on the horizon. The never-ending to-do list. The anxious pit of worry that sometimes looms around your mind. Cosy does not care about that. Cosy is just for you to feel sound.
For me, it is after a long day spent dashing from place-to-place and attempting to complete errands, before retreating – hot chocolate in hand – to the cluttered chamber of slumber that is my room. For once, I feel relaxed. I feel not-so-mindful of things to do tomorrow. I can sit and not think. Because thinking too much just goes in the direction of sadness. Cosy is about channeling out as much as I can. It’s hard but usually tiredness and exhaustion make it easy. Head back. Reclining. Not inclining to ponder over my many mistakes in the day. Embarrassing conversations and encounters. Moments where I didn’t ‘live up’ to expectations – of mine and others. Time to just do me. Knowing that tomorrow will be challenging, a battle against myself, I already take defeat. I bear a white flag as I slip into sheets of white linen. Because the only way I can have my moments of peace, is if I acknowledge that life is difficult. That I will probably cry every day. That I will carry around pain for at least a while longer. To make that realisation means that I have already lost. And with that, comes some degree of comfort.
I don’t really have many points of procrastination. I do procrastinate, but usually because of one thing. Being sad. It totally fucks up your day. I can’t believe I’m writing about being sad again. I don’t want to, but I guess it goes this way for a reason. I write about it because it’s in my head. I write because I can’t cope with it bottled up. My sadness is my main proclivity right now. My only proclivity it seems. I can’t seem to focus on much else when depressed. When I’ve ventured outside on Boxing day and really pushed myself to fall into the distractions of buying half-priced lacey underwear that I don’t really need at all (again). When I somehow squeezed in a second lunch to avoid having to think about my current life. Lately, I’m not sure if I’m nauseous from the excessive eating or the sadness in itself. Having to deal with the effects of sadness stopping your life on the daily, is necessary when depressed. I just hope I get better at it. Because I’m definitely not getting happier.
Still don’t know how I’m managing. It feels like I’m constantly being let down by those around me. Not by everyone, just by some of the ones that matter. And it hurts. A lot. Some days I feel like I can’t breathe because my anxiety just overrides me. The anxiety of being betrayed. Being made to feel like a fool. And what’s worse, compromising my own character in the process. In a way that whenever I remember what transpired between us, I am embarrassed for how I behaved so unlike me. I don’t how many mornings I will have where I wake up and sigh at the prospect of having to struggle through another day. Another day of upset. Of a heavy chest weighed down with sorrow. Of grief-stricken thoughts. Have you ever mourned the loss of yourself? As though you yourself have died. I cherish the days when I didn’t.
I wrote a whole post and it got deleted. How sad because it was really quite profound. I feel shit. That is all that needs to be said. I made that decision. That difficult choice. Everything hurts. But I think I will feel okay. But how can you feel like your whole body is dying when you let go of one person? Apparently it is possible. The only solace I can perhaps find in this sorrow, is that I am not alone. Its shared and in some cases communal. Damn, this really hurts. So much.
How can I not feel torn? Torn between two sides, two decisions, two outcomes – when I know which is the right one.
I know what to do if I don’t think with my head. I know what to do if I choose my feelings instead, of that decision that I am too scared to take. The one where there is not a lot at stake.
I make this choice, and there will be nothing to lose. I’ll go back to square one, and it all would have seemed a ruse. A trick that life has played on me, for I would never have met you, and you would never have met me.
Wouldn’t that be perfect? For we wouldn’t be going in circles. After all, isn’t this what we want? No more challenges, no more hurdles. Simply life as it should be…
I’m 23 – and finishing a university degree (finally). Maybe I’ll do a Masters, in Bali. Wouldn’t it be nice? And maybe I’ll listen to the Beach Boys and think of you, but then I’ll go back and enjoy my view.
And when thoughts of you would come my way, perhaps a bit of resentment would enter my day. And a little bit of ‘Why did you let me down?’. But that’s just life, we can swim or we can drown.
So I am choosing to say no, it simply can’t be. I have to live too, even if it hurts me. Even if I give up and cry every night, at least I can say – hey, I’ll be alright.