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Pity Party for One

23 Nov

I have maybe never been this depressed at Thanksgiving before. Well, not since 1999, anyway. That seems like another lifetime ago. In some ways, I wonder if I’m having some sort of cyclical event-related depression leftover from that time. Maybe it’s brought on/triggered by how generally dysphoric I’ve been lately anyway about life in general, plus the fact that this is the first Thanksgiving since that one which I will be spending alone.

Sometimes I think about how nice it must be to be obliviously crazy. By that I mean, to just be insane and not know any better. I should work on that. Instead, I am painfully aware of my moods, my thoughts, and how “off” I am. I push people away because they just make me feel more crazy. Their reassurances, their attempts at making me feel better, or worst of all — trying to tell me that I’m being negative and that my life really isn’t that bad. No shit. My life overall is pretty good. I have a nice place to live, I have a beautiful son, I have food, I’m sorta employed. Telling me that doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel shittier for not being able to be happy about it.

Yes, I have tried talking to my friends. I don’t really talk to my family about these things. And, for whatever reason, through no fault of theirs, I am failing to feel connected to them. I just don’t feel understood. I kind of know why, but I don’t feel like there’s much I can do about it. So, I will retreat in to this coccoon of self-pity and misery and I will feel like life is hopeless and just hunker down until the storm passes. Because it always does. The day it doesn’t, I will be dead. Don’t take that as a death threat. It’s reality.

On that note, I don’t know why people are so afraid of dying, or so uptight about talking about it. I know what song I want played at my funeral. I want to be wheeled in late while everyone is sitting there so I can continue to be perpetually tardy like I have all my life. I’m still convinced that I’m going to die when I’m 45, which is something I’ve had a strong conviction about for as long as I can recall. Maybe that’s why I take chances and sometimes do stupid things. Because subconsciously I feel invincible for another 12 years. I think when you’ve experienced so much death & trauma firsthand, at some point death ceases to faze you. I guess that’s a bad thing in a way. The only time it all bothers me is when I have my compulsive death thoughts — “Final Destination” type scenarios that play out in my head whether I want them to or not, brought on by who knows what. Sometimes they’re about me, sometimes they’re about other people. Always they are gruesomely detailed and disturbing in their graphicness. I don’t know why my brain does it. Actually, I kind of do. Apparently it’s a common manifestation of OCD. Shocking that I have OCD, I know.

This whole feeling thing sucks even more because I am usually very action-oriented. I function best when I’m busy, when I’m working, when I have a project, somewhere to go, something… and when I reach this level of shittiness, I am rendered practically incapable of action. Nothing sounds good, nothing makes sense, I can’t make a damn decision about anything. It’s like being held hostage by my brain. And my brain is a mean motherfucker. It means business. Don’t make a move or it will hurt someone. It is not here to negotiate. It wants everything on its own terms. So, I wait. I try to figure out what it wants.

Sometimes that means writing a blog and letting all my shit hang out there. Writing is cathartic to me. I have a drawer full of half-written journals, scrawls on pages, letters written and never sent, held on to over years of moves and life changes. No one has been allowed to read them. Ever. Blogging for me is cathartic in a different way, because it requires me to think more about what I’m feeling and try to express it in a way that will (hopefully) make sense outside of my head.

A lot of times the waiting means just keeping everything inside, but I know that’s not good so I’m trying to get better about it. But it’s a scary feeling, being open and honest about my thoughts when I’ve kept so much to myself. I know it seems like I’m pretty open and out there — but don’t mistake directness & honesty for openness. There is a difference. I guess that’s another reason why I feel disconnected from the world at large… because sometimes the “me” I know feels so drastically different from the “me” everyone else knows. And it’s a lot of fucking work keeping up with it.

Maybe I need to quit doing that. It would require a drastic reduction in my levels of caring what people think. Which I do, way more than my “I’m a badass” image portrayal lets on. I am working on not taking responsibility for other people’s feelings. I don’t mean that in an uncaring way. But in a healthy, positive way. You have your shit, I have mine. I have enough to deal with on my plate, so I am going to stop eating off of yours. Figuratively, speaking of course. I will still steal your actual french fries.

Brain Dump

27 Oct

So many thoughts, so little time to get out my netbook, log in to my blog, and write them all down in coherent sentences. Therefore, since I have obviously managed to complete the first two steps of this process, I’m going to cut myself some slack on the last one and just unload a bit. I’m tired of always thinking of things to write about and then never writing them because I “don’t have time” or I don’t have some perfect blog entry fully written in my head before I get to the keyboard. I guess this is an exercise in stream of consciousness.

I’m back “home” this week. Part business, part pleasure trip. I came back to do a week of volunteer work and do some networking. In my “free” time, I hoped to catch up with family & friends. I also looked forward to some “me” time to just do whatever — read a book, watch endless DIY shows on HGTV while painting my nails — you know. As usual, I’ve grossly underestimated the amount of time things take to do. And I’m broke.

Not enough time is one thing. Not enough time AND not enough money? Suck. But related to another thing I was hoping to accomplish on this trip, which is figuring out how to get myself out of this awful personal/business rut of doing my bar gig and a few things on the side and barely scraping by. Because this is *not* working for me. I mean, it is. But it’s becoming stressful to be this broke all the time.

I want to love what I do. I want to be so damn happy that I get to work every day in my chosen profession. I’ve seen what it can be like… I’ve seen the people who have that form of happiness in their lives. (And I’ve seen the resigned desperation of those who hate what they do, or only work to pay the bills.) I know what I want to do. I don’t know how to get there from here. Ugh.

 

Here Goes Nothing

25 May

I’m back out there. I’d like to say “and better than ever” but that will remain to be seen. Instead of trying to pull of an entire blog revamp before I republished my site, I decided to take it a piece at a time.

Part of the revamp is just aesthetic, but part of it is filtering back through all my old entries and editing the names to protect the innocent (and the not-so-innocent). I know it’s not fool-proof. It’s not meant to be. It’s just meant to give a veil of privacy to myself, my friends, and my family.

So! As I get a section of posts updated, I’ll mention it in a brief post in case you’re new here and want to read them, or if you’ve been around since my early days and want to reminisce about the stupid crap I used to do. Either way, I look forward to sharing more with you, as a lot of exciting (good AND bad) things have happened in my life recently, and I feel like I’m finally moving in a great direction.

Sometimes

8 Sep

Sometimes I think I’d be better off relegating myself to a life of being single.  Oh, I’d still have intimate relationships.  But they’d be with the understanding that I’m beholden to no one, I don’t share a house with anyone, and you can take me as I am or see yourself out.

Sometimes the things I write in my head never make it to paper or blog.  They die a slow and painful death, expiring in snippets as I remember less and less of them throughout the day.  They’re like little daydreams that never survive past the world between awake and asleep.

Sometimes I question my sexuality.  I try to remember how long I’ve felt this way, and whether or not what I feel is what I really feel or just what I think I should feel.  And the older I get, the more lesbian-oriented I get.  By the time I’m 50, I’ll be the biggest dyke ever.  I’ll be the aunt at the family reunions who brings her “roommate.” My husband and I will just be really good (probably divorced) friends who happen to have a (really awesome) kid together.  Then I think about living a life without having heterosexual sex ever again, and it makes me a little sad. I guess I’m destined to a life in limbo.

“Sometimes is never quite enough,” according to Alanis Morrisette.  I couldn’t agree more.  People think I’m so demanding sometimes.  Ha.  Try living in my head.  I’m uber-demanding of myself every second of every day.  I guess I never got over the “if you’re flawless, then you’ll win my love” mindset that was so ingrained in me.

Sometimes I look at my blood relatives and I wonder how on earth it is I came from the same tidal basin of the gene pool. Maybe I’m adopted.  There are days when I don’t want to speak to my family again, unless I can tell them exactly what I think and how I feel for once without being called selfish for doing so.  I frequently can’t believe I made it out of my home/hometown/home state with my sanity in tact. Clearly, they did not.

Sometimes I wish I could be oblivious.  Stupid, even. What must it be like to live a life of contentment, of never wanting more? To just not know any better?  To never question, to just fall in to line and be happy with the status quo.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to just be dead. I don’t mean that in a “Oh, look at me, my life sucks, someone hear my cries for help,” kind of way.  I just mean it in a very factual sense.  I think about how peaceful and quiet death is going to be, and I sorta look forward to it.  Then I feel like a major asshole for thinking things like that when I have so many amazing people and opportunities in my life.

In Light of Recent Darkness

22 May

For reasons I’ll refrain from elaborating on, I am compelled to mark the resurgence of my participation in the blogosphere with an entry to explain where I’ve been, and why I’m back.  Or at least acknowledge that such an absence has occurred.

Either way, I can’t just start writing again like it hasn’t been eight-plus months.  Obviously a lot has gone on in that time.  Some of which I’ll catch up on – in passing or directly – some of which is still a work in progress, and some of which is just plain done and gone.

Topics may be a bit dark, nerves may be a little raw, and posts may not be as loquaciously insightful as usual.  The style and look may morph. Old posts might disappear or change.  New people will be linked and/or joining us.

At the risk of going on and on about only tangentially related topics without saying much (I’m still percolating other entries), thanks for still being here.  In the words of one of my fave blogs: Thanks for stopping by.  I mean it.  Really.