Self-Love, Party of One?

After having a breakup that had consumed all of me—rummaged through my body, reached my heart, and carved his aching name across it. Oh but we were both to blame, or in his case— I was to blame, ME, ME, ME and just me. After months of on and off communication that included sex and resentment, we had officially cut ties. Ah the relief, mixed with tireless tears. I had confided in my friends during these dark days, until I was hit with more misery, when I realized I had been confiding in the wrong people all along. The friends I had once considered most important were really just wolves in cute clothing.

After a cycle of shattered hearts, bad friends and just all around bad karma and vibes, I had crawled into a funk, found a snug spot to sulk in and closed myself off. Everywhere I went unhappiness found me, caught up to me quickly, as if to laugh and say hey you should’ve ran faster. I wanted to get away, I thought if I left this place of misery I could redefine myself elsewhere. But certainly that wasn’t the answer or financially possible for me, to just get up and go.

So it was time for me to get a hold of myself—to stop crying every day, and letting the wrong people control my life. It took me a while to find a place of content, of acceptance and positivity, but I did it, I released it all—anything that was no good for me. Except for pizza, there’s always pizza.

There I was, saying good riddance to anything or anyone that made me unhappy, that made me feel small, that all around just made me feel uneasy; because why should we live a life, our lives, accommodating something or someone that doesn’t make us feel good?

The hardest part for me was letting go of people. People that I have grown attachments to, that I had shared laughs and secrets with, people that I had created memories with. But ultimately, they were providing more bad than good. I always feel that a relationship, any kind of relationship, boyfriend, girlfriend, friend, best friend, family, should always have balance. It shouldn’t feel like one party is taking more from the other.

I found that I surrounded myself with people who liked to take control, and realizing I was generally flexible and easy-going, I was an easy target. They took ahold of me and I allowed it. Because I enjoy company, I was someone who absolutely hated being alone.  So it didn’t really matter to me if I was accommodating more often than them because I was just happy to be hanging out.

And I didn’t really notice the imbalance, to be honest, I did have a lot of fun times— but when they didn’t want to do something I was interested in or something I had suggested and I would ultimately concede to their plans, I began questioning the friendship. Did they really care about me as I did them? They mostly certainly did not, because after all “Danielle is always down for anything.” Yeah anything that is suitable to you, apparently.

When a good friend of mine had betrayed me in the midst of my breakup— the ultimate betrayal, a total breach in girl code that I cannot even speak of, I had lost it and my heart shrunk a few sizes smaller. I felt like bad luck had settled itself on my back, making itself comfortable and homely. Was I really stuck on this train of self-pity and if so where was the next stop off?

So I began to do little things— after kicking the bad friends to the curb, the ones that really didn’t give a shit about me. The ones that found their problems to be more of importance than mine, the ones that found the universe revolved around them and I was just one of the many in orbit. They were all gone. A series of breakups, with lovers and friends.

I realized the only way things would change, was if I took control and changed it. I had to give myself a chance— a chance to figure out who I am and what I like. I had lived amongst other people’s enjoyment for too long, I wasn’t quite sure how to find my own. What do I like?

How was that such a hard question? I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness and that was the first step, recognizing that I did, we all do. I had beaten myself up for so long there were too many scars within, so I let go of a lot of anger– I acknowledged it, I wasn’t going to let it eat at me. I reminded myself that it is in the past now and that I can forgive, for all that I was no longer in control of, for all that was behind me. And I began to ease up a little on myself. You’re gonna be okay.

   I began writing more, oh how I had not been writing, I had forgotten how much it was within me all along. I bought myself new blankets! Yes new blankets, to rid of the previous sheets that reek of past lovers. I bought blankets that were bright, a beautiful yellow, mixed with light grey and white. I decorated my shelf with a string of lights. I figured since I couldn’t find the light, I’d bring the damn thing to me. I got flowers and candles. I went on bike rides and painted. I read books that I wanted to read and watched movies I never got to watch. I stopped listening to sad songs and stopped watching Greys Anatomy— if they kill off one more person!

I was pushing the sadness out! You are not allowed here anymore, please leave. I was taking control. Granted I was spending more time alone– my chance of self-discovery and self-love, so much so, that I began to crave it! Me time, it is almost required at this point. I felt myself thinking clearer, reflecting on all that had happened and finding where I have grown.

I was thinking positive and stopped allowing myself to worry about too many things at once. And that little guy bad luck? Well there’s always a chance of running into him again, but for a while he hasn’t been on my back.

I was scared, I am scared, but I’m happy. I’m happy and I’m scared. I’m scared about the future, but I’ve been giving me a chance. I’m hopeful and excited and positive of all that will come. And that’s all you can really do, is give you a chance, a chance at self-love and self-growth.

with love,

Danielle Sheehan

Kafka On The Shore by Haruki Murakami

“Chance encounters are what keep us going.”

ON THE BACK COVER: Kafka on the Shore is powered by two remarkable characters: a teenage boy, Kafka Tamura, who runs away from home –either to escape a gruesome oedipal prophecy or to search for his long-missing mother and sister –and an aging simpleton called Nakata, who never recovered from a wartime affliction and now is drawn toward Kafka for reasons that he cannot fathom.

As their paths converge, Haruki Murakami enfolds readers in a world where cats talk, fish fall from the sky, and spirits slip out of their bodies to make love or commit murder. Kafka on the Shore displays one of the world’s great storytellers at the peak of his powers.

Picture this: I’m minding my business riding the bus in New York listening to Kishi Bashi and bopping my head when I spot a very stern face on the cover of a book staring back at me. The book itself looks worn, the edges softened by the thumbs that passed over it last. The book sits alone in the corner of a two-seater seat and it stares at me and I stare at it. Poor thing, I think, someone must have left it behind. Instinctively I pick it up. I read the back cover and am already intrigued. However by the time I’ve gotten home the book finds its way to my bookshelf not to be touched for months. It is only recently –once I’ve finished with all my finals that is, that I begin to start reading the adventures of Kafka. I seriously did not know what I was getting myself into.

This isn’t your average bildungsroman ladies and gentlemen. No, this is a story in which anything is possible. Stones talk, cats talk, and leeches fall from the sky. Haruki Murakami, author of this brilliant story, captures the tale of Kafka Tamura, a runaway and in my opinion the world’s toughest fifteen year old. The way in which Murakami intertwines the lives of Kafka and Nakata is spectacular. One feels an emotion and the other acts upon it. One’s mind works rapidly, perhaps too much for his own good, while the other’s mind is completely blank –empty, and left for filling. It is very hard not to fall in love with Kafka and Nakata. Kafka is handsome, mature, and resilient. Whatever comes his way he responds in a manner way above that of a fifteen year-old. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t crushing on him hard –even with the creepy oedipal prophecy. I mean who cares if he’s destined to sleep with his mother and kill his father… he’s still dreamy (insert cheeky monkey faced emoji here). And Nakata, well he’s pretty much the grandfather I didn’t know I always wanted. I mean the guy can talk to cats, c’mon how COOL is that? He’s selfless, simple minded, and wears his heart on his sleeve. The kind of guy you just want to give a big hug to because hearts that big need some loving.

Murakami’s style of writing is impressive too. Every so often I would come along a few lines that were so poetically presented that I had to pause, re-read, underline, and place a star in the margins. “I’m the lonely voyager standing on deck, and she’s the sea” boys, take note. That right there is beautiful. Here’s another one, “We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the distant past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds.” Like ancient stars that have burned out –seriously how sad is that?? Murakami’s words are refreshing, they are relatable, and they pack a mean punch full of feels.

Kafka On The Shore covers everything from growing up, finding yourself, falling in love, to fulfilling your destiny and purpose. The story shows the good and the bad of humanity, it speaks of the truth of the way things are, and it enforces the idea that we can run but we can never hide from our lives forever.