Let me preface this post by saying something that a lot of people already know: I am a self proclaimed know-it-all. I talk with such wholehearted gumption and confidence that you can’t help but believe me – usually I am actually right but every now and then I just can’t help myself. The other side to this coin is that I also do it to myself. I can flip any situation that I’m in, effectively convincing myself that I know everything, I possess all the answers, and that there should be no room for doubt in my decision making process. Let me also say that this method has worked pretty damn well for me for the last 23 years. We’ll call it an “Everything happens for a reason” complex; providing a mental scapegoat: If it wasn’t meant to happen the thought wouldn’t have presented itself. Well. The day has finally come where I have reached the exception in my method. Not that I didn’t know this day would come eventually, but boy did shit just come through guns blazing and hit the fan. Like most topics I’ve been touching on, this too revolves around my relationships (with others, and myself) so if you don’t want to read another post about me being single and (mostly) okay with it, now’s your chance to stop reading. But you may as well read on since you’ve come this far, and I’ll definitely be spiritually judging you for giving up. Just saying.
Moving forward (always)
So I am writing this post after a long, very dramatic, and very (sorry to my flatmates) loud crying session. I feel better now, but in saying that I will probably go back to crying once I post this. I have come to admit that I, Taylor Compain, of sound body and mind, have fucked up. Royally. And this is about how I’m dealing with it – other than crying, listening to sad music to make myself even sadder, and eating copious amounts of supermarket cracker mix – because as enjoyable and easy that is, it’s not the healthiest way to cope with coming to the conclusion that I WAS WRONG. Woo hoo hoo, bet you thought you’d never get that in writing. But alas, I made the mistake, shit the bed, screwed the pooch, however you want to say it and now guess what? I have to deal with it. PROPERLY. Here is the abridged version of what has happened, purely for contextual reasons, so we can move on: Taylor meets boy, likes boy, gets hurt by boy. Meets boy again weeks later, boy likes Taylor, previous situations have changed, Taylor freaks out because of past hurt from boy, hurts boy (does not realise at the time), and leaves – literally like leaves the country and goes to LA. Weeks later Taylor realises she has made A HUGE MISTAKE, finds out from boy that he is now seeing where things go with someone else even though the feelings are still there, and now Taylor is back at square one with a sore heart and a huge plate of humble-fucking-pie that could end poverty. End of story, and end of me talking about myself in the third person because that was weird.
My initial reaction was to blame him; too pushy, too overbearing, not open enough, too uncertain. But true to form I realised that the mirror had to be lifted. And this post is not about him, it’s about me. Because I am selfish and that is more than okay. As usual, after feeling overwhelmingly put out because this whole ordeal didn’t go according to plan (see: spoilt/drama queen) I managed to turn this negative situation into a positive lesson for myself: Some things are beyond your control, it is okay, and you just have to LET IT GO. Since this has all happened i’ve had to constantly remind myself that perfection is unattainable, and as much as i’d love to be right all the time, have all the answers, and never have anything bad happen to me (and my fragile wee heart) life would become incredibly boring and even more unbearable than it currently feels. I guess this has now turned into some kind of pseudo apology post for my own conscience (not that he’ll read it) but now the universe knows, especially since I’m virtually incapable of expressing these thoughts audibly, 1) because I am unable to do so without crying (in any confronting and emotional situation ever), and 2) for a writer, I’m pretty terrible at explaining myself. So here it is, I am sorry, but I am happy. This did happen for a reason, a reason way beyond my scope, but here’s hoping it presents itself in the near future. It’s given me a reason to turn back to what I really hold important, which is myself; continuing to create constantly, striving to achieve my goals, and spending more time on being alone rather than filling it with heartache, forced interactions, and false conversations. My commitment to honesty and open communication definitely got a little lost, in the same way I did, but I’ve managed to recover it with renewed purpose. The future looks even brighter when I talk my myself with love rather than the anger I did when I knew I was wrong, reminding myself that sometimes letting go is just as healthy as trying to find reason.
Hurt is a teacher, and happiness is the mother you come home to reassuring you it’ll all be better tomorrow.
Love you all,