I’ve been missing for a while. You may or may not have noticed.
I’ve been dealing with things, an awful lot of things, that have impacted me in an awful lot of ways.
Today, the 16th of May, marks three months since the death of my grandfather, and the date which, to me, everything started to go wrong.
There was dealing with loss.
There was a boy who was problematic.
There were friends who were more problematic.
There was the immediate aftermath of a party which went horribly wrong.
There were friendships which began to implode.
There was another boy who I began to love.
There were flaws that I discovered, in myself and others.
There were groups of people that crumbled.
There were groups of people that became stronger.
There was an awful thing that happened to me.
There was an apology that isn’t yet enough.
There was work to be done that was brushed aside.
There are still exams to be taken that will change everything.
There are still feelings I’m feeling that are changing me for good.
There is still a hovering cloud of an imminent emotional threat.
There are still feelings of disgust towards myself and others.
There is still stress and worry that is overwhelming.
There is still a loneliness that I can’t quite shake fully away.
There are still heath problems that are chaining me to a person I don’t want to be.
The past few months have been eventful, to say the least. I have experienced new things, that had made me feel light and joyful in brand new ways. But I have also experienced new things that have made me feel darker and more alone than ever. These few months have been full of firsts.
I lost a loved one for the first time.
I felt the true support of a loving network of friends and family for the first time.
I saw friendships break down passionately for the first time.
I fell in love – at least I think I did – for the first time.
I found a place, a group, I thought I could really belong, for the first time.
I failed magnificently at something I had never imagined failing for the first time.
I was betrayed horrifically for the first time.
I had my heart broken for the first time.
I dealt with my morals fighting my instincts for the first time.
I felt truly alone for the first time.
There is so much I could say about the past few months. So much I probably ought to say, if not in public, then at least to myself. I need to figure out what the hell has been going on in my brain that has led to me feeling as I do today.
But that is a private affair. I need to figure out myself, and I need to do that with myself, and no one else.
But I know that things have changed, and that I have changed.
And to reflect that, this blog is changing. I won’t give details yet, but Storytime With Mima will, as soon as my exams are over, receive a complete makeover, to catch it up with who I am now, because that is not, I don’t think, the person I was when I first began it.
I’ve written astonishingly little in the past few weeks, and have instead been learning how to live with new things and new feelings and new approaches to life, as well as dedicating myself to ensuring I can still get the future I want for myself.
At some point, I am sure I’ll do what I do and write something about the lessons I’ve learnt from this all, and what you can learn from my silly, weird little life. And I’ll psychoanalyse myself and go into far too much depth about what things made me feel and how I’ve wound up here from all the way over there, and it’ll be far too real and revealing, and then I’ll heavily edit it all down into something that isn’t very cohesive, and I’ll post it, and all will be well.
But in the meantime, I will be largely absent for another little while.
Have a lovely few weeks, and don’t die before you (or I) come back.
Lots of love,