Gently Menacing Thoughts

I quit writing a few months ago because I had an influx of health issues and needed time to deeply introvert. I think that’s become my reputation among my friends though, Amber the girl that deeply introverts. That doesn’t attend parties, spends her time at home, writing in her journal, going on walks. Thinking, so much thinking.

I’m glad I play my cards this way though because I get to keep all my nurturing energy for myself. I need a lot of it too, it works as fuel and presses forward the activity on growth and life projects. I ran into some friends earlier today and marveled (with a touch of envy) at their extroversion. I think everyone has a pause button that they hit on their lives, but I think I have to hit mine on another level. I had the week off and barely left my apartment. The one friend that I did hang out with did so on my couch while drinking whiskey.

I was never this introverted until I met my ex boyfriend, who took things to another level. I spent most of the relationship curled up in his apartment watching tv and getting high while he paid my rent and ordered us delivery. Finding that level of decompression in my energy was addictive. After that the external world became something I tried to blot out more and more, focusing only on nurturing my inner sense of peace and safety. I don’t smoke weed as much, I’ve been sufficiently mellowed by copious use.

I’m trying to get my life back together after my morale was shattered by a string of unfavorable life events. It’s weird looking back at the last two years and the seemingly never-ending abyss. Being on the other side of it now, lucid, coherent, grounded, feels like I’m carrying a giant lie around for the world. Looking put together is a privilege, and to convey to people that I’m put together feels…snobbish. Like I’ve never known a problem or a setback in my life.

I’m back to toying around with writing again. I thought I would gauge my growth by observing how my thoughts play out on a page. It’s definitely a process. Writing creates anxiety and I now have a cloud filled with gently menacing thoughts circling over my head. I saw Madonna live a few weeks ago and was reminded of her unafraid expressiveness. My anxiety stops for a minute, and I wonder if I could be so bold.