This weekend I took a shotgun to many of the ducks I once had in a row.

The meltdown began on Friday afternoon en route home from the post office. I vehemently declared to my mother that once my lease expires in November, I am moving partly (well, mostly) due to my rent that’s so high it could kiss the sky.

I woke up at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning and, probably due to delirium, started crying. But 6 a.m. was too early to make any decisions about my delirium so I slept on and off till 11 a.m. At that time, I decided to cancel the Twenties Unscripted creative showcase I was oh-so-hype for only a few weeks ago. With only five solid weeks to plan it and little support to do so, I figured it was one of those ideas that was great in theory but super difficult to secure talent for and actually execute.

And, then at 2 p.m. I made the difficult decision to pull out of my spot in the Dominican Republic trip that my friends and I have been planning since the dawn of man. Yes, the same trip that only days ago I declared I would attend come “hell or high credit card balance.” It was time to be brutally honest with myself about my pockets. The days of daddy bankrolling my vacations are long gone.

Following my stream of rapid fire life cancellations, I sat on my couch and sobbed like the first world idiot I truly am. I later found solace in J. Courtney Sullivan’s latest work ” which I poured through during most of my weekend’s waking moments to distract myself. Reading is clearly fundamental.

As drained and pathetic as I currently feel, there was something oddly cathartic hidden in this weekend’s meltdown. I haven’t truly unraveled in awhile, and certainly not at such a brisk pace. It felt redeeming to admit that I do not have all of the answers and sometimes shit gets royally fucked up when I least expect it. At the beginning of this month, I was planning a showcase, anticipating a summer vacation and dating someone. In a week, I consciously shot all of those things straight to hell.

I made the kinds of decision that do not make much sense right now. I could’ve continued to exist in some short-sighted bubble because YOLO. I could’ve continued ignoring flashing red lights when it came to many different aspects of my life. But, I hate living in limbo. That is probably why I jump the gun to make decisions. It pains me to know I need to do something and I simply have sat my frightened ass on the act. So, I pulled the trigger on some things and clawed my way to peace of mind. I am probably still crawling.

I struggled with whether or not to write this because it’s utterly terrifying to let people in on the things that eat away at me. And, part of me felt like a brat. I have faced far worse things in my life, far worse summers to be exact, and this is really nothing but a dent in an otherwise well-paved sidewalk. But, I wrote it anyway, because it feels good to unravel and damn good to write about it.

Sometimes, life makes absolutely no sense. And, it is those times that are the most freeing. Because it is only when everything is 50 shades of fucked that you are at total liberty to recreate. The harder moments in life are the ones that provide the most clarity. I do not know what will become of the rest of my summer after I annihilated all of my plans, but something about that feels oddly amazing.

Xoxo,

Tyece