Blogging Therapy

Jul 15, 2013 by

          Today was not the happiest of days. Throughout it, I felt a protruding lump in my throat, threatening me with tears to come streaming down my cheeks by the evening. I wasn’t sure why I was sad. There were finally groceries in the apartment; my friend spent her day reading my blog instead of working (I was flattered!); and the guy from Match, who suggested meeting for coffee last week, texted me today to set a date. What was wrong with me? I began to scour the floor of my mind for a reason. I found more than one. (Can’t I ever let myself be upset without questioning it? I’d probably be over it by now had I not been so intent on analyzing it. Of course, the answer is no. I am living a happiness experiment. I am not okay with letting myself sulk in sadness anymore, simply accepting it as a given fact of my life. Sadness is finally an irregular feeling for me, so question it I did.)

          At the heart of my frustration was no doubt my single status. I’ve proven to myself that I can dramatically improve my quality of life in a short time span. Contrarily, transforming my love life into actually existing is an ambitious feat of its own. It’s a slow process, as I expected it to be. In my impatience, I’ve been fighting the urge to give in to any boy cravings with all of the stubbornness that my Italian blood has innately instilled in me. I’m going to be honest, my fingers hovered the send button of my phone tonight, preparing to launch a ball into the court of a guy who is definitely below my standards. Don’t worry, I didn’t execute. I guess I should be proud of myself: *clap fucking clap.* (He would have been so easy.)

          Next up were unnerving thoughts about the exhibit that I’ve become. A little over a week ago and for years prior, my life was completely private. Its details are now available to anyone with an internet connection. The response to my blog thus far has been nothing but heartwarming. Given the people who have told me they’ve been inspired to strive for happiness themselves, I don’t regret putting myself on public display. I am, however, still getting used to the exposure, trying to adjust to knowing that I don’t know who knows what about me. It’s surreal. It’s also thrilling, because it scares the crap out of me. Regardless, I’m anxious. Can I just fly away already?

          With that, I awoke my longing sensation for travel. (Does it ever sleep?) I felt the need for an adventure in independence, a fresh start – as if I haven’t already got that right here at home with The Happiness Experiment in its beautiful beginning. I thirsted for the ultimate me time in a land where no one knows me. It’s likely less glamorous and more lonely than it sounds. Even so, I wanted it. It wasn’t that I desired a change of scene; rather, I yearned for anonymity (and the godlike Italian boyfriend that Rome had more potential to deliver than Toronto).

          With too much on my mind and tension building in my chest, I took to my laptop tonight. Since launching my blog, I’ve received many unexpected compliments on the quality of my writing. The kind praise has come to my surprise because I’m not a writer. I’m a girl who, three and a half months ago, desperately needed someone to talk to. Across from me sat only a laptop. I purged all that was in me into it. Telling my thoughts to an imaginary audience gave me the sense that somewhere out there, someone was listening to me before anyone really was. My writing for The Happiness Experiment has been one of the most significant contributing elements to my happiness. It has been a therapeutic release. It has been a record of my progress. Above all, it has been a friend to depend on in times of despair. Tonight, at the end of a string of hopeless thoughts, it was just me and The Happiness Experiment on the balcony again, friends reunited in their original space, alone together in the world.

Happiness Tip: Write it out.

 
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