Having Fun With My Mental Breakdown

So…long time no see! For those that are a little behind, let me catch you up.

A little over a month ago, I deleted all of my social media accounts (except for my official writing/poetry/project Instagram account, but for the sake of redundancy I’m going to say they were all deleted from this point forward). In our gloriously developed, technologically integrated society that’s the equivalent of going off the grid entirely. For all you know, I could be riding donkeys to and fro in Reykjavik, Iceland at this moment. Spoiler Alert: I’m not.

In the days since deciding to have the Millennial equivalent to Brittany Spears’ ’08 meltdown, my life has completely changed. Not in the way that I legitimately decided to move to Iceland and search for the perfect donkey that complimented my personality type, but in a more realistic way.

The changes felt all consuming at first: vastly more free-time, an embarrassing habit of checking my phone only to find zero notifications to justify the looky-loo, the undeniable feeling of being so out-of-touch with any and everything in the world, and let’s not forget the worst—the inability to online stalk those pockets of negativity online, AKA ex-friends and -boyfriends.

Yeah, it was a pretty drastic change. No Snapchat. No Facebook, No Instagram. No Twitter. *waves hands dramatically to prove the point* NOTHING.

But then I noticed something. Something…crazy. I started living my life, but, like, FOR REAL this time. To be completely honest, I used to be the first person to defend the benefits of frequently whipping out your phone to commemorate a moment, but my goodness is there power in commemorating a moment just with your senses.

Using every square inch of my optical nerves to outline my hand gliding through the air while I drove with my windows down.

Taking a deep breath—no, four deep breaths—and embracing the subtle hint of cow feces scattered throughout the air. (I live in the Panhandle, no judgment!)

Realizing that that exact same air could have such a strong casing over my fingers, emphasizing each invisible hair poking out.

It’s kind of a beautiful thing to disconnect with the world in order to reconnect with yourself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s terrifying! Living life as a twenty-one-year-old with virtually no recreational online presence? 2008 Brittany Spears meltdown indeed.

Except, didn’t Brittany come back stronger and brighter than ever before? Didn’t her bald head grow back some lusciously long blonde hair? Why yes, I do believe that is correct! I don’t know when exactly my re-debut (I know that’s not a word, but I like its spunk!) will be, but it’s going to be worth the wait. I’m not coming back until I want to, until I’ve learned to balance living for myself and living in the 21st century, and until I feel like there’s a point to it. Until then, I think I’m going to continue to bask in my newly shaven, completely bare metaphorical head. Gotta tell you, the breeze up there is pretty refreshing.

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