Hi there. It's been a while. I hope you are well.
For me, as with most people probably, it's been a roller coaster.
[By the way, I'm not talking about the kind of coaster that is fun and exhilarating and makes you feel like you're flying and afterwards you stand tall, ready to conquer all of life's problems. I'm talking about the kind of coaster where the seats in the car are covered in pee, the headrest is smeared with blood, and your shoes are ruined by the pools of vomit in the floor, and where you go up the first hill hearing ominous noises and watching nuts and bolts fall to the ground, so you close your eyes the rest of the trip - after you survive, against all odds, you stumble towards the exit and collapse on the bench outside, unable to walk or eat or drink water for the rest of the day due to the lingering nausea and psychological trauma. Not fun. But a teaching moment.]
As 2020 starts again for the third time, I feel exhausted, overwhelmed, useless, and defeated. I truly hope you feel better.
I've missed blogging and writing, but have been basically paralyzed by angst for the past however many months. In mommy terms I would say that my current trauma state is entering its 25th month.
[On second thought, I'd probably say my trauma was born August 2016, when Collin and I moved from SF to NC to be closer to our family. Just last night was the latest time one of us looked drearily at the other and said "I wish we'd never left San Francisco." This time it was Collin, but the hot potato goes back and forth repeatedly. That would make the trauma a fitting 66 months old. Deep breath.]
I know everyone is having a hard time, and other people continue to function relatively effectively in this modern pseudo-hell. I know I have so much to be thankful for, and I am thankful for it. In fact, I'm in an almost constant state of desperation to appreciate everything I have before the other shoe falls and everything immediately slips away. I'm clinging to the bearable NOW before it inevitably turns into the horrific THEN, when I just won't be able to survive it anymore. My mind pushes out adrenaline, whispering enjoy it now bitch and cackling terrifyingly. Then I look around in the silence with wide, wild eyes and say a short prayer of thanks for the mediocrity of my life.
"Everything's ok," I blurt out to myself as a mantra, hoping no one heard me. "This is fine, I have a wonderful life, I should be happy," I blather on and on inside because if I stop for long, the other voice comes back from the shadows: enjoy it now, bitch.
From the outside I guess it probably seems like I live a life of leisure. The truth is I'm just barely hanging on from one day to the next. I haven't had a full-time job since 2019, and after almost two years of underemployment in a global pandemic my daily routines have become ice floes. I swim from one to the next like a polar bear, all the while stuffing my face day after day in preparation for a hibernation that never happens. I complete my chores and small projects and then try to find a new one before the panic sets in. [Let's not talk about how climate change is making the ice floes further and further apart, but it's clearly happening in my metaphor, too.]
After 25 months of surviving-not-thriving, I'm feeling pretty hopeless. Actually, hopeless isn't quite the right word. Let's see, what's the feeling called when you are handcuffed in prison on the Titanic trying to stand on something to keep your head above water before you drown? That's what I'm feeling. Maybe not hopeless, but definitely helpless. Just waiting for Rose to show up with the ax, I guess.
I hope you are better. I hope the new year brings happiness and gratitude and blessings and laughter and love to all of us. I hope we find ways to help others. Maybe if we still have hope, we can help, and that will help us all.
Charity
No comments:
Post a Comment