Dear Diary...FML

Uprooting one's life is like going through a form of rehab. Such dramatic change can feel like you are detoxing and all attempt to control mood swings becomes harder and harder. At least, this has been my experience in the past five months. I have never been to rehab, thanks be to whomever—maybe myself, in this case. Last year, as in many people's experience, was...shit or shitty. I found myself in a situation that I could not control. Events were happening to me that were not of my choosing. So what happens when you are faced with grand upheaving life-changing circumstances that are not your own? You pack up your life and move across the country.

Eight months ago I was in a long-term relationship with my partner. Things were progressing; talks of engagement and life beyond "girlfriend/boyfriend' territory started to take place. Our friends were also moving on, getting married, and having children. After personal battles with career bummers and disillusionment, I made a change for myself, accepting that however stuck or unplanned my current partner was, they would love and support me, so I was going to do me. I took a pay cut, went back to a job I knew and loved with less responsibility and time commitment. I was "working on myself," cooking, yoga, walking, attending the farmers' market on the weekends, reading old scripts, going back to class, and working fewer hours. Still drinking like a fish, mind you. Some things never change. All the while, my partner started their new job, a new company, more hours, and a further commute. So the divide began, at least I think it did. I can't really tell whether he was truly depressed or just not able to fully commit to his persona of "I'm a really nice guy" anymore. Having such comfort with one another, complacency creeps in and you don't notice the little behavioural things that maybe you would be keen to address if you were, let's say, dating.

Months pass and all of the issues start to be redirected into a general sense of malaise and a "keep on truckin'" attitude. Thrilling, right!? How fucking romantic. A getaway to Mexico gets planned and executed. In my head, I have conversations like: he's just super stressed out and just needs a vacation...we will have sex again, just need a change of scenery...he will open up after he relaxes a bit...maybe he's going to pop the question in Mexico, maybe that's why he has been distant and secretive!? Needless to say, Mexico was a disaster, and let me address each of my points. "Stressed and needs a vacation" turned out to be: he really just needed a vacation away from me. "We will have sex again" turned into, sadly, no fucking sex at all! He could not have dodged that bullet faster if the gun was held to his proverbial temple. No questions were "popped," just my own at two PM on the second to last day in the hotel room. I turned, half-naked, applying sunscreen to my limbs.

"Are you going to break up with me?"

A reasonable question at that point, and it was met with an arbitrary "How dare you ask that? Don't be silly."

Oh, silly I was. To continue on as we had done before; so comfortable, accepting, and patient. Turns out the nice guy whom everyone loved was a coward. Harsh, I know, but then, this is a story about a breakup. Note to anyone who engages in relationships: don't be that guy. So my confident, outgoing, and power-hungry take over the world self was decimated by the cowardly approach to this obvious breakup. Not engaged by myself, of course, because I wanted to keep the engine running. The best lesson or biggest takeaway is not to be destroyed by your relationships.

Abandonment happens. How do we keep connected to ourselves enough to not lose all sense of identity and self-care when someone whom you trusted disappears? That's really it isn't it, though. They fall out of your life as if they were not even there to begin with and you're left with the shock of the defeat. I had maybe a total of two reasonable conversations during the breakup. All the rest was a mess of hate texts, threatening to self-harm, huge panic attacks, screaming/raging over the phone—lots and lots of anger. I turned into everything I hated; a needy, heartbroken, rage-fueled, crazy bitch. I've had a few conversations regarding the negative stereotypes of what I just classified my behaviour to be above. "Needy" and "crazy" are the most important, so let's discuss. What does it mean to "be needy?" Don't we all as humans who bond with one another and form deep connections, need each other? Mind you, there are varying degrees, which more appropriate classifications of "co-dependency" and "insecurity" are better served. As a woman, I have been called "crazy" more times then my ego will permit me to remember. This is the most inflammatory and damaging of all. Crazy is a blanket term we can throw over anything that gives us some semblance of "grief" or "opposition." Used to slander women, invalidate our emotions and our voices of, again, opposition. Sure, we can all go a "little crazy sometimes" and I truly feel, if we were all sociopaths, life would be a little less emotionally volatile.

This all leads me to, and oh, don't let me forget, getting fired. Yes, this lovely little job that courted me to come back, fired me. Here I am, working as best as I can through my tumultuous breakup by not bringing it into work fails in the end. Another betrayal, as they technically fired me with severance without any warning or previous complaint. It was their style, after all. I had seen them do it over and over again, so I'm the fool for thinking I was different. The place turned into a boys' club and the rug was swept from underneath me. I'd never been fired before, so that was a first. That experience was more damaging to my ego than my breakup. That dismissal led to defeat. I am still recovering and working past that one. With all of this at my feet and the looming knowledge that I had to pay all the rent and bills on my own, it was a quick decision to peace the fuck out.

So here I am, having packed up my whole life in 30 days, moving across the country to family and no rent. Being a Sagittarius, it's natural to make big leaps forward. What I did not have time for in all my packing and moving madness was coming up with a plan for when I got here. I mean, of course, I was planning in my head. Fresh start, I've got a good resume, I'll check out the industry scene here in the big city, there is no rush kinda feel. The first month was a complete daze. I truly don't remember much other than the comfort of my mother's house and her cooking. A friend asked me if I was feeling "disoriented" and I could not have put it better myself. It's a good gig, don't get me wrong. I'm house sitting a mansion while the parental units travel. I also made time to travel across continents to see a new lover. But that's another story for another piece.

Time is passing. I'm slowly putting together a new resume. All the while feeling more and more disconnected from everything I knew. So capitalizing on the momentum of events that were not of my making, I decided to make the biggest change just to say "fuck you, elements, I cant control, control this!" *insert middle finger.* Now, dealing with all the repercussions of said decision in a brand new city—thank god for family. Oh ya, not working and spending quality time with yourself while in recovery of your early 30s life crisis is fucked. Fun things like ... crying in the shower were a daily occurrence. Getting out and meeting new and interesting people who turn out to just want to fuck you—kinda depleting. Endless job interview after job interview, cold emails with funny and catchy cover letters all screaming out, "just give me a chance you idiot!" Morale is at an all low. Creative and spiritual flow is at a complete standstill. Anxiety is rising and I'm faced with every question about myself. Firstly, why did I just leave everything I know to start again without much of a plan only the security of family? Why was I fired?What's wrong with me? How will I regain my confidence when I'm so defeated by this horrible job market? Who's going to love me when I'm a melting pot of mental and emotional dysfunction? I don't even like what I'm doing for work. How do I find my way out and be happy? Is school the option again? What about my artistic ambitions and talents? Don't they count for something?

I am in the eye of the storm; in the cyclone of epic life change. I am reminded of Joseph Campbell's The Hero's Journey. Essentially, to break it down, it's the storytelling archetype all Disney movies are storyboarded with, and Lord of The Rings, amongst many others. So I am Frodo on my journey to self-discovery and purpose. Just in my world, I'm not a hobbit. I have no ring, I can't eat two breakfasts a day without it showing, and have elves as friends with cool bow and arrows and amazing hair. In conclusion, dairy: FML.