I've given up apologising for my absences on here and I'm sure you are tired of reading about them. What it all boils down to is that I have been unmotivated to write my blog and I need to stop making excuses for that and address the issue. Whilst I begrudge producing a sob story for you to wade through, this is a beauty and lifestyle blog. While most people may only be interested in the beauty aspect, part of the reason I write a blog is to have a space where I can express myself no matter what is on my mind. So here I am, expressing how I've been feeling in the hope that maybe writing it down will help me make sense of it or that someone reading this might be able to relate and tell me that I'm not being daft (or maybe that I am, but there's something I can do about that).
Let me be clear about one thing: being unmotivated to write does not mean that I no longer want to write. I do still love writing and I do want to commit to this blog. The issue was that so much has been happening in my university and personal life that I couldn't see past it to the things I wanted to concentrate on. If I'm honest, I didn't even think about my blog this year until my summer holidays started and even then it's taken me nearly a month to force myself to write something. I definitely think I've lost my mojo (which is possibly the cringiest word on the planet but I couldn't think of a better alternative) and this is partly because writing became a chore for me. I loved my degree subject and although it was tough, I did enjoy researching and writing my coursework essays. I may not have appreciated how much I enjoyed it at times, but knowing I was creating content that I was usually pleased with to some extent did make me feel good. The problem with constant essay writing, however, was that I developed a routine that became monotonous; a style that ensured me a fairly decent mark but lacked flair or innovation. They were safe and while safe may be enough for a solid 2:1 mark, it will not cut it for a good blog. The sheer number of essays I wrote this year also resulted in me essentially running out of steam when I finally finished the year. I couldn't think about doing anything remotely connected to degree work, which included reading anything non-fiction and writing.
You've heard the university excuse before, I know, but there's more to it this time. Actually, this is where things get a bit personal. I would understand if you opted out of reading the rest of this because you feel uncomfortable reading so deeply into someone's life and state of mind. Part of me questions if I should be writing this at all and even as I type I'm not sure if this will even make it into the final draft. It seems unprofessional to write about something so personal, or at least to do so this early into my blog, but to be honest that's the kind of person I am. I am very open when it comes to communicating through written word, mainly because I can find it hard to communicate confidently in person. There is something about having someone physically there and me needing to say the words aloud that makes talking about things like this unbearable. If I do talk to people about how I feel, I often will leave out great chunks to make it seem less serious. So although it is perhaps inadvisable, I'm going to write about this because unless I do, I'll never know if this helps me to move past it.
For the past three years I have been trying to come to terms with a lot of loss. During my time at UCL, six people close to me have died. That is a lot for anyone to go through but when the list includes one of your best friends and both of your grandfathers it is difficult to see past the grief that you feel. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have a very bright and bubbly personality, even now. What most of them may not realise is that whilst there is a smile on my face, in my head there is a lot of pain that I've not been able to get to grips with. I mean, that's just grieving really. I'm not special because I'm suffering a loss; most people are. But without knowing what other people's grief feels like and whether this is typical or not, all I can say is that my grief feels like losing myself. I feel like I have died a little bit more with every lost friend or family member and each time I grieve for someone new it is worse because I'm also grieving for the ones who came before them. I feel lost constantly; I don't know what I am doing most of the time. I've started to have panic attacks which was entirely new and terrifying for me. I have not only started to spontaneously cry on nights out now (which I find so humiliating because drunk crying in itself just looks ridiculous), but also during the day with no idea what has set me off.
When I'm around other people it feels more natural to be happy, like it's my default setting. For a little while I can convince myself that I am fine by convincing others of the same thing. Even still, close family and friends have noticed the difference in me. I've started to push away from people as the result of the insidious thought that I might be better off alone so that I don't keep hurting like this when people I love inevitably leave. My parents and brother have noticed the change the most because I have become a nightmare to live with. I've been extremely moody and my parents have not really known why, yet unfairly I have made them deal with my constant foul mood. I really am trying to be better to them but it's so exhausting to force myself to be happier and courteous at home. It is even harder to stay positive when I'm on my own. I find it unreasonably difficult to get out of bed or force myself to do anything. It did get to the point where I would stay in bed all day and only leave when my hunger became so unbearable that I was on the verge of fainting. I can't tell you why I did it, but I can say that it was unhealthy and stupid of me and no one should do that to themselves. When you can't even force yourself to get out of bed for food, writing a blog post becomes an impossible thought.
But as the White Queen in Lewis' Carroll's Through The Looking Glass says, "Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things for breakfast", and I've decided that it's time to reshape my thinking. I still hurt. Heck, I have cried every day this week so far (including twice on my birthday). But I just have to keep moving forward until the heavy pain of loss transforms into a warm fondness of memory that reminds me of how lucky I was to have these people in my life to begin with, and that they will always have a place in my heart.
This blog post has accomplished what I hoped it would: it has released some of that emotion I had built up inside of myself and helped me to see that I'm ready to start living my life again. I was worried before that I'd lost all ambition and motivation in life but writing this has proven to myself that I still have some fire in me and that I am capable of going on to do things with my life that will make me happy and proud. I'm ready to take the next daunting steps that come after leaving university and to live my life to the full. So, to conclude this mammoth blog post, I am ready to start blogging properly now. No more distractions or excuses.
Love, Kira
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