personal post, don't feel like you have to read, I just wanted somewhere to ramble.
There has been a lot on my mind lately, and I am feeling lost. I have always thought I should keep a diary as a way of controlling my thoughts, but I just haven't got round to starting. Starting is always the hardest, and I feel that once I start, it all becomes real. I don't like to stare my thoughts in the face. It's easier for me to keep things in my head as they become much easier to bury, or can be put into their own separate little boxes, deep within the cells of my brain and I don't have to face them, physically. If I am really honest, though, I think my brain has hit capacity.
Lately I have been feeling that I have lost my way. My three years at university are nearly up and so is my time in London. I have to say goodbye to the friendships I have made, the town I have become accustomed to, and the independence of living by myself. It's time to go home. The thing is I don't know where home is anymore. If I talk literally, my home is in a little place further south with my parents. Well it's a house, with a mum, a dad, and two siblings, but when I am there I feel more alone than ever. I have a great bunch of friends, but I feel so far from them than ever because we're on different paths. They have their own lives: some with boyfriends, some with children, some with great jobs and their own houses, and well some, some are just away travelling the world. The saddest part of growing older is losing friends and I just wish sometimes you could freeze a moment in time and return to it whenever you feel you need to. London has become my home, and although I still don't believe to have completely found myself, I have found a beginning, a start, and I'm not ready to let that go. I have laid all of these worries down to stress. The stress of self pressure, the stress of questioning my ability, and the stress of being a small fish in, well, a big ass pond, and significantly, the stress of fulfilling my ambitions. I have a vast amount of dreams, and I feel as though I am taking four steps back for every one step I take forward. Yes, I think you've gathered by now that I am a terrible cliché.
When I left home to come to university I made a decision. I decided that although advised I wasn't necessarily ready to do so, I would make a pact with myself to leave all my demons at the front door. The black cloud, the negative thoughts, and the stupid chemical imbalances in my brain that made me feel that way. Three years on, nothing has altered dramatically, but things have changed. I still get those bad days when all I want to do is scream for guidance, I still feel alone and struggle to let anyone else in, and sometimes I want to give my life away completely. But despite all of this, I am healing. I am on the path to finding myself whoever that may be. I am beginning to become afraid that when I pack up my things and head back home, back to that front door again, I will be back where I started, and I will be the girl I have spent three years running away from.
Change is always difficult. Granted. Change can be good, but it can also be bad, and I guess the reason for all of this amounts to one fact: I am scared. I just hope one day, and one day soon my path brings me back to London, and back to my best friends, and all of the friends I have met through the likes of work and blogging, and hopefully when that time comes I will know who I am, what I want from life, and am strong enough to go for it.