Small Problems.

by Dori Nicole

I’ve been hit with a ton of bad luck over the last two weeks and all of it added to my regret of ever returning home in the first place. I still have to take care of business matters and wait for my passport so while my return is “justified” it still feels entirely unnatural and all wrong for me to be here.

I’ve been contemplating turning into a fashionably homeless person in another country (cheap living) or state (distance) until things blow over and my life heals but I also know from experience that this never works. While traveling does offer some healing aspects, it never really fixes the root cause of our despair. Returning home is like jumping into a time capsule. Nothing has changed and your entire journey feels like a dream during a long sleep.

However, I am a runaway girl at heart.

I’ve lost nearly all of my inspiration since I’ve been back. The two months I was gone I felt extremely happy and content and blessed. I had tons of ideas, lots to say, lots of plans and optimism. But returning to a depressive environment stripped it all away. 

Being creative, I feel, is all that I am and once it’s gone, I feel no more than a ghost. A shell. 

I’m a pistachio with no nut.

Environments are contagious.

I soak up the energy of whatever place I’m in and this location makes me feel like my life is worthless, that I’ll never achieve anything, I’m just a forgotten soul on this earth that has been chucked out to the trash. An accidental birth.

Just two weeks ago I was floating in the ocean thanking God/TheUniverse  for allowing me to be alive. To experience a beautiful world.

Now I’m in what seems like a dumpster and my gratefulness is nonexistent until I recall that memory. I’m constantly complaining, which brings more negative energy into my life. Like ruining my MacBook, or this head cold I recently contracted that has me laying in a tissue fortress, with a lavender nasal strip strapped to my nose.

My upper lip is shiny from coconut oil I slathered on to combat the dryness that comes with consistently blowing your mucus.

Yesterday on a less than beautiful beach, I told my boyfriend to not take it personally if I do end up running away for awhile. That the way I’ve been feeling the past 6 months is calling me to do so. 

I’ve been feeling completely lost in my life since my accident. No idea how I will make money again as my savings dwindles down, unable to run or workout to blow off steam. Thinking I may have to go back to school although I really hate it and haven’t an idea of what to study that justifies added debt. No one to turn to for help other than a pat on the back and “you’ll be okay.”

Since we had just left my new chiropractor where I was told I should not even try to run for a full year and that I will always have a back condition, my guy just laughed and said, “well, you can’t run away. But you can walk or call Uber.”

I ended the day by watching the first 3 Episodes of “Making a Murderer” and was again reminded of how small my problems are.

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