#obsessed: My Love — Until The Ribbon Breaks

It's been a while. Hello blog, my old friend.

Somehow, I'm still only one year older since my last post. It feels like it's been a lifetime, as I've changed my name, graduated, traveled to Greece, moved to Sacramento, finished my last internship, got a job, traveled to Chicago, lived with an old lady with Alzheimer's, moved into my own apartment, and finally seemingly achieved all I ever wanted and hoped to be by this point in my life.

Yet still, somehow, I'm not happy.

Of course, it's a process. It takes time to get to know people and make friends and get used to my new situation. It's only been just over a year. I finally have time to figure out what I want to do — an overabundance, if anything. I haven't learned to slow down yet, I'm still the instant gratification type, looking for the next big thing in my life to achieve. I'm eager to be at that place where everything is exciting, but I'm too scared to start doing the things that would make it exciting. Of course, there's also the issue of money and transportation, but even the things that wouldn't require additional investment still terrify me sometimes. Every Thursday, I drag myself to free yoga at the library, rain or shine, in the hopes that my regular presence can inspire some like minded person to reach out. It's a first step, and it's easier to hope that someone talks to me, but eventually I'm going to have to own up to the fact that I could be doing more. A therapist would certainly help, but all the ones I've contacted so far either don't take my insurance or aren't available for new patients. I think I've finally reached a tipping point in my solitude that without any new external input or outlets soon, I might break down.

That's definitely not something fun to think about, and it's not a realization I would have made without blogging. A conscious flow of words, with or without an audience, has yet again brought a small amount of comfort to this introvert in her lonesome. Hello blog. Hello myself. ◊