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Trying to keep my shit together

I've come to accept the fact that we are all living in our own sisyphus world. The concept of time which I cant seem to grasp surrounds me with it's intoxicating pink haze, I wake up and I'm 25 BARELY SURVIVING. But I have experienced depression and trauma and I am sooo tired of revisiting that blackhole. I HAVE TO SHOW UP FOR MYSELF. Executive dysfunction fucks me over while partnering with narcolepsy. But I refuse to succumb to the bittersweet melancholy. I'm holding myself accountable. No excuses. Parents aren't in my life and I'm dirt poor. But I believe in myself. That hope and effort gives me life. I fucking love life and I'm done hiding from it (also done with being a crybaby).

@ammonite

Jan 22, 2025

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Taking stock, planning, engaging my heart

I am right in the middle of a very big transitional period in my life. I've got 22 days left of my corporate job. In 30 days I will be arriving in Lisbon for a one month stay where I will finish my book, work on a collaborative project, go to the beach, meet new people, find new opportunities and heal (literally, I am 99% sure I am about to medically diagnosed with stress). This starts a journey of Becoming A Full Time Artist that is terrifying and precarious. I am about to move back home but I'm not seeing it as a step backwards even though I will miss sin house very much. I've been dating for the first time in years after two back-to-back ill-advised long distance situationships lol. I feel more connected to who I am and what I want now. I like connecting with new people and learning about them. I like that people want to go on dates with me. I've been making an extra effort to see my friends. I've missed them so much. Being with them makes me realise what life is all about. I've been writing songs and recording old ones. I'm playing my first headline show in a really long time tomorrow. I've been reframing how I think of my music career to find validation in small successes and in developing my craft - rather than acquainting the number of plays I get to my worth. This is not easy and yet I persist. I've been feeling better post-heartbreak. I've also been finding out I have to go for an MRI and a tilt table test to confirm once and for all my heart is okay. My heart has taken a battering in every possible way but it finally feels like I can see some light. I was told to avoid all strenuous activity and heavy lifting eight months ago but the other week I finally got the go ahead from the hospital that it's safe for me to do it again. I have been able to move again and I've started playing badminton and I really love it. I even did a little run on the treadmill last week whilst screaming along to Brat!! It felt euphoric and I can feel my body getting stronger. Life is good/messy/chaotic/scary/exciting/still somehow peaceful

@caskeyc

Aug 14, 2024

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Intentionality

Things seem to pass us by every day, one thing after the next, with any information at our fingertips It’s time to be more honest with ourselves and those around us. Time will pass by, and the unknown is scary. One thing I can’t do is lie about who I am and what I am doing. I hope my intentional persistence can ground those around me, even if it is awkward for me It’s hard being alive, but being alive is the best part.

@5pud5

Jan 23, 2025

Top Recs from @jmeridian

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SOLO TRIP

Back in April I went to the PNW for 11 days solo! This trip pushed me and taught me so much about myself. I did a bunch of hiking even though before this I wouldn’t have called myself a hiker. Driving through remote areas with poor reception forced me to trust myself. I loved the solitude and nature and who I became on this trip. I also got 2 tattoos (my first!!) and worked through my fear of needles! I’m tougher than I think.

@jmeridian

Dec 27, 2024

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ice cream is just ice cream

My grandparents owned an ice cream shop for 35 years. In the early days they sold sandwiches too, before moving to just ice cream. At one point when my dad was an adolescent, they actually lived above their shop. My grandma would dream up flavors and my grandpa would make them — he's lactose intolerant, he never really even reaped the one benefit of owning an ice cream shop. My grandparents, dad, aunt, great aunts and uncles, second cousins, and even my mom all worked fairs and festivals scooping ice cream. It was a family business, my grandma and grandpa were the core. They had to change locations twice. They "retired" at least once before actually retiring. This ice cream shop was an institution. For me though it was the place where we would have Thanksgiving. Closed for the season, the shop was the only space big enough for all of us. I had birthday parties there as a baby. It was our first stop after a five hour drive across state lines to see family. That's the place where, at my grandpa's insistence, I wrote my initials into the wet cement he had laid down for a bike rack. They are still there. When I was 16, I worked at the shop over the summer. You don't realize how tough it is. Decades of dipping had made my grandpa particular. I didn't have the wrist strength or the speed necessary when there were customers out the door, all of them hungry and agitated by the stifling heat. I was terrified of giving someone back the wrong amount of change. Becoming almost paralyzed by the responsibility of being behind the cash register — it was their livelihood after all. That was my grandma's responsibility. I was in charge of the milkshakes and malts. I decorated sundaes with hot fudge, wet walnuts, sprinkles, and cherries. I packed the shaved ice into paper cones and doused the evenly shaped mounds with syrup. I doled out the frozen lemonade into styrofoam cups. My hands became raw from all the cleaning. I'm now particular about hygiene in the kitchen and always tip. My grandparents still own the building, renting it out to a dentist and coincidentally, an ice cream shop. It's so strange now to go there. Everything is entirely different while being exactly the same. They painted the chairs a different color, but they are still those heart-shaped wrought iron, poorly cushioned chairs I know from childhood. Some of the flavors have remained. But it's not the same. Maybe they're buying their heavy cream from a different supplier. Or the high schoolers who work behind the counter aren't as precise with the measurements. I can try, skipping the artisanal flavors for the ones I grew up eating, but it will never be the same as it was. And that's alright. They're softer now, my grandparents; the anxieties and stress of those decades having melted away. These days, ice cream is just ice cream.

@jmeridian

Dec 30, 2024

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Chip

@jmeridian

Jan 21, 2025