life personal


I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel at this point in my life for a few days now. Nothing really fits. Things are ultimately going pretty well for me on a superficial front, and I’m enjoying that a lot.


I can’t work myself out. I have to know things, a strength and a critical flaw of who I am. Knowledge is definitely power, but power isn’t always a good thing.


I saw my Psychologist yesterday. The first time in nearly two weeks. I’ve had to put on my big girl pants and cope on my own, which has gone interestingly. Honestly, it doesn’t really sound like much of a feat, but after the holes I’ve dug myself into this year I’ve had to shift my personal goal posts and definitions of success a bit.


The typical opening how have things been conversation began and I couldn’t really find an answer. Like I don’t know. I had a panic attack while singing on stage the other day. I got the closest thing to a dream job a few days after. My rooms a mess, despite my best efforts. My head is somehow even more of a mess, if that’s possible, but when isn’t it?


That’s the word. It entirely sums up everything I’ve been trying to say. It simultaneously gave no real answer to myself or anyone else, but still, seems strangely fitting.


Like when you drop beads on a tile floor. They bounce everywhere. Disappear under every piece of furniture in the vicinity. Spread to all ends of the earth. You’ll still be finding them years later. No sense in any of it.


I want to believe in order. I want to believe in perfection and sense and if I just sort everything out then it will be okay. Cause and effect.

I know on a technical level that isn’t really how things go. At least in the moment. I mean, I believe in hidden symmetry and golden ratios and all that, but I guess you don’t see that until you step back. Like, when you first look at a conch shell you don’t see the mathematical proportions. The Fibonacci sequence isn’t printed there, you have to step back and measure all that out.

But in the moment things are messy and make zero sense. It’s just a shell, probably covered in sand and whatever else it’s collected from living in the chaos of the ocean.

Part of me hates that. I want the purpose of every experience printed clearly on the tin so I can file it away with all the other things-wot-I’ve-learnt-while-humaning.

Curse you life and your refusal to work the way I want you to.


Honestly, beneath this cool exterior is an actual spoilt brat, cursing the universe for not buying her a metaphorical pony.


So things are scattered. I am scattered. I am all over the damn place.

I spent a good two hours the other day in the pouring rain praying a particular type of prayer I like to call ‘having a bitch at God’. (I don’t know if that’s entirely reverent, but that’s where I’m at right now.)

You know, have a good scream at the sky about how things are not how I would like them to be, throw some rocks, kick an unsuspecting tree or two.

And then, a still, small voice will remind me that I am not God, and I will try to swallow my pride and trust that I am and will be okay.

In the end of every mess in my life I have been.

Okay, that is.

I’m still standing, and I’m far better off than I ever have been before, in a messy, scattered, ‘it is well with my soul but currently not me‘ kind of way.

Messy faith. Not what I thought faith would look like when I was suffering through my high school RE classes.


I always want to have some grand moral finish, a ‘there is a light that never goes out and this is said light’ type thing. I don’t have one. Everything is all over the place and I’m not making all the best choices and my wise mind seems to be skipping away under some ugly rug in the living room of my brain. I’ll definitely find it, it just might take a bit of work.

I don’t know.

We are getting there.

Sometimes I just need words, you know. These are some words.

All my love,

By Britts Amelia

24. Ex-dancer. Jesus Feminist. Very bad at autobiographies, apparently. Studies brains and science.

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