B is for breakable. 

I am not sure how long it has been since my last entry. I forgot I even had a blog. 

Most of my conversations go on inside my head. Then in a crisis, I externalise it. I think of it like spring-cleaning a dirty attic. Getting all of that shit out and re-arrange it. It feels like you have solved nothing dramatic, yet still deeply satisfying to think it is neater. 

So I hope my head becomes neater here. 

I do not think I will ever write a book. What would it say? I had an average life, thanks and goodbye. Today feels different. I feel more motivated to talk to myself, I have never felt so alone. Never cried so much (as far as I can remember). I am currently re-reading Circe for the third time, relating to a fictional character on pain and womanhood. I am 31 years old, a doctor, in a relationship and I have every reason to love life. Yet it feels clustered to me. I am in a crisis. 

So where do I begin?

I was here before. The last time I worked in A&E, it took up all my mental, emotional and physical bandwidth. It leaves behind a hollow core. I was not sure how alone I felt, until I met Elana. Funny that, I started out wanted to write something and it changes as I type. I feel like just writing this like makes me think of school essays and the potential of a poor grade, a bad outcome. I have dedicated so much of my life to work, yet I have never dedicated nearly as much energy to anything else. Not friends, no fun, not even holidays. So when work goes badly, my life goes badly. 

I wrote Jamie so many break up letters. Like a teenager, here again trying to make sense of it all. I had hoped for more at 30. Some sort of magical coming of age and wisdom to fix everything. Yet, like everything I need to make sense of it. Build it. I need to figure out it's components. 

That is all I can say. I started with verve and now I feel I have nothing to say. I wanted to write myself a whole letter, from a 30 year old me to a 40 year old me. I will eventually. 

Until next time x