by jlolb

This one might not be the most clear, but I’m unpacking my brain. So if the sentences don’t blend and the phrasing isn’t crafted in exactly the way it should be, I want you to be okay with that. And I thank you in advance.
You see, I started reading the most honest blog I’ve read in a while today and it brought me back to reality.


Back to my reality which made me realize that in this concerted effort to be such a Pollyanna, I have started lying to myself and to all of you. Because in the last 17 months, I have been afraid to tell you all that I might be feeling anything but happy because I needed to convince you and also convince me that this move “fixed” me.
And don’t get me wrong, it was the best decision I’ve made. It was incredible. I have a life here. There are people in this city I love more than anything. I love the life I’ve crafted here so much it sometimes literally hurts.

But to pretend that that has healed all of the hurt and the dark that was in my soul when I lived back there–to pretend that those tears don’t find me when the moment is most inopportune or the anxiety doesn’t force me to shut myself in or that the depression doesn’t paralyze me at certain points–well, to deny that is to lie to myself and also to lie to you because you see there is this place where I hide those things and when hidden for too long they become the most torturous little germs trying to eat me alive. And there are enough germs out there in the real world–you know, the ones disguised as assholes–that make life challenging enough and I don’t need a man-made Hoover Dam of germs in my life clogging anything up.

And the more I pretend and stop telling the truth, the more they succeed.

And I have come to the conclusion that that is what is really behind this incredibly long hiatus of writing. I can’t write when I’m lying to you and to me. I can’t write that crystal clear white sparkly blah because it’s not me and it’s not fun to read and most of all I have no interest in it. If you read back, what you see in these many pages is honesty–none of it is polished, it’s rarely shiny, but it was honest.

And I live here now. And I love this life most of the time, but sometimes I don’t–and I want it to admit that. And I want it to be okay to be honest and say the things that I want to say because I feel them, rather than censoring based on this hopeful expectation to do people proud and convince myself of something that is simply untrue. And I’m not sure when I decided that I needed to do otherwise.

Since I started writing, this blog has always been an outlet for me. A release. A group therapy session where I felt I could say anything and most of the time you’d all be super supportive and sometimes you wouldn’t and that would be just fine because at least I can tell you. I’m Meredith Grey, and you all, well, you’re Christina. Or vice versa, I like them both, but you get the point.

So, my friends, I might actually be back for real this time.  And I promise it will not always be pretty. But it will be honest.