I don't know who this Mooji dude is (actually I used the enemy AKA Google and so I DO know who he is), but I don't like people all up in my space. I can count on one hand the people that have been to my place (outside of family, of course. You can't keep those fools out!). I don't care for visitors; probably one of the main reasons I keep such a tiny, uninviting place. And I definitely don't want FEELINGS all up in my business, too.
My real problem, though, is that only the bad feelings seem to come more often and rarely, if ever, go.
Now, I'm going to write something here because this is my blog where I share my truths, and ask that you please, PLEASE, take several chill pills. Don't send me referrals to doctors or be glib or anything. I know this is my problem and it is I, Raquel Penzo, who will solve it. Please just accept that this is something I need to write for ME. This is where I vent. I need to release it.
More and more I find that I don't have the courage to leave my apartment. That's the best word that I could think of to describe what I'm lacking, or what I feel I'm lacking. And I find that the sofa has become this safe haven where nothing can hurt me, when in fact it's the thing that's hurting me the most. That I'm eating, not for nourishment or even pleasure, but because I don't know what else to do. That I lose myself in TV and movies because the real world has become too much. That the only thing that keeps me from shutting down is that I'm responsible for two other lives besides my own that require me to hold down a job and run a household.
That every morning when the sun shines in my face, my first thought resembles this meme:
But eventually I get up. I do things. I paint on a smile and I let words escape my mouth. I crack jokes at work. I put on makeup and comb my hair. I answer phone calls and participate in silly Twitter conversations. I write irreverent blog posts and then, when it's just me and my thoughts and my sofa and my Netflix, I'm free to feel things without judgements. Even if those feelings stay too long and tell me I'm stupid and fat and ugly and useless and lazy. I just need to feel them. In private. Without witnesses.
And then, in my own time, in my own way, I can let them go. Like Mooji suggests.
*smooches...trying to live through it*
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"trying" being the operative word
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