This Got Very Long. Consider Yourself Warned.

This started out as a general What's Going On With Me post, but evolved fairly quickly into What's Going On With My Brain a.k.a. I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS.

One of the biggest things going on in our life right now is moving. This is fairly all-encompassing, because it's not just The Move I/we are thinking about, it's everything that we're doing once we get there.

Both Ryan and I are planning on visiting a GP when we get back, and possibly a nutritionist as well. It was originally Ryan's idea, for himself, to get in shape for the wedding and just generally become healthier. As he's talked about it, I've thought about my health more, and how much I need to change. Plus, I'm obviously going to support him in whatever way I can, both in diet and exercise. The details all depend on what the doctor's say, obviously, but we know we need to make a lot of changes. Big changes. Cutting things out of our diet, signing up for classes, getting on the Wii Fit changes. The more we talk about it, the more excited I get.

Something else I'm doing when we move is going back to therapy. I had decided this even before the awful summer I've had, as I still have very specific issues that I'm sick of living with. Then this summer happened, and it became a definite. Most of June and July disappeared into a black hole of depression--and I mean that pretty strongly, thinking back on those months doesn't bring up a lot of specific memories. It's a big, dark, awful blur. August brought a lot of normalcy back, but there have been nights where the emotions want to creep up again. Even when that doesn't happen, I've been thinking about it, and I think I've figured out exactly what's wrong.

...Even before Ryan and I decided to move to Indiana last year, we had talked about going somewhere, mostly because his choice of grad schools for the program he wanted was slim and scattered. I knew I wanted to get out of the area, at least temporarily. Not because I hate the place or the people, but because I felt...stifled. Which is a stupid word if you know my parents, but there it is.

It's hard to grow when you live in a place that has known you as one thing for your entire life.

Everyone, even people who loved and adored and supported me, even the people who were the best for me and helped me grow the little I did, still saw me as the same person I'd been as long as they'd known me. In a situation like that, there are expectations, and actions based on those expectations, both conscious and unconscious. Hell, I had expectations, I have no doubts that I've always been my own worst enemy, and have gotten in my own way more and better than anyone else. Ever.

POINT IS. I was stuck. Then we did the biggest, scariest, and best thing ever, and moved 800 miles to a strange place to live and work with strangers. We gambled everything--our money, our credit, our identities, our relationship, I suppose even our lives--and jumped. And we grew. We grew a lot.

Then, over the second weekend of June, we went back home to visit for four days. We had a great time, we came back, we started up our lives again, and then I fell into a hole and didn't crawl out for almost two months. And even though I'm out of it, I'm still struggling, and I finally know what's wrong.

I'm having an identity crisis.

When we moved out here, I withdrew from my classes at MCC and basically ignored my acceptance to ECSU. I had a lot of interests fighting in my head, to the point of just...seizing up with indecision. I decided that, when we got to Indiana, I would just work. I wouldn't pursue marketing or graphic design or art or editing or anything else, I would just work and see what I would do without any requirements, what would emerge naturally. And it did. And it still feels like I want, with my whole heart and soul, to do and be: mother, wife, artist, writer.

But I'm still struggling with other parts of myself. I'm struggling with parts I didn't know existed, struggling in ways I don't really comprehend. If I think about it too much, I get this disconnected feeling--literally disconnected, as if gravity has cut off and I'm about to float away. I feel like vomiting and screaming and attacking the furniture.

Even if I don't think about it too closely--and trust me, with that reaction, I avoid doing so--I find myself...grasping. I'll think about getting a spontaneous tattoo or piercing, going home and getting very drunk, or even trying a drag of my friend's cigarette--I KNOW. That last one, especially, made me realize that I'm grasping at straws, at others' identities.

One night, talking with Aurelie, I re-mentioned that I loved her new tattoo, and how much I really want to get one, especially before we move back. She said that she'd talked about tattoos with Allie, and they'd agreed that, to them, tattoos aren't about tattoos, they're about feeling so strongly about something that they want it permanently on their body for the rest of their lives. She advised that I should think of it that way, not the way of Tattoos Are Awesome I Want One.

And I started thinking about it, and the more I tried to narrow down that One Thing I felt That Strongly about, the dizzier I got and the more I felt like vomiting and screaming and punching furniture.

POINT IS (again) I have some issues going on, and I need to buckle down and deal with them. Thinking about therapy, I know that I'm going to go in there ready to buckle down, and I know that I'm going to spend a lot of time being asked really hard questions, feeling like I'm going to float away, wanting to scream and run away. It's going be really fucking hard, and it's going to hurt like a motherfucker.

But I have to do it. For my relationship, for my future, for my physical health, for my mental health, for my identity. For my life.