I’m Just Not There Yet

This is something I wrote about a month ago. It’s a bit of random thought pieced together, but it all holds true. Anyway, hopefully I will be returning to blogging/writing more now that I’m working into my new job. I’ve been subbing as a paraprofessional for the last month, and I have an interview to be full time, and in doing this work, I’ve reaffirmed the vast changes made in my life. I am EXACTLY where I need to be to enact the even bigger changes that involve going back to school and the giant terrifyingly expensive thing that is going to be. It’s an exciting time. I just need to focus and not let the cultural climate affect me negatively, and work at expressing why it does get me down when I read NPR or PBS, why The Daily Show makes me laugh at the same time it makes me cry, and why I DON’T have to feel bad about these feelings. I DO NOT agree that I need to stay silent for the next four years and be okay with what’s going on. And I don’t need to justify my feelings. Anyway.


It always astounds me how quickly time goes despite the fact that I’m 36 and should probably be aware, yet sometimes it feels like I just graduated high school. I know, there are a million sayings about how quickly time passes, I should be used to it. Clearly, humans do not always react the way it is predicted we will act. I think Americans and Trump have illustrated this point. And time will never cease to weird me out, astound me, befuddle me and all around piss me off. Time is a sentence, and the only punctuation at the end is a set of ellipses.

Four and a half months ago I moved out of the safety net of my comfortable life because I needed more out of life, out of work, out of myself. Three months ago, I was excited and nervous. Today, well, things have changed in the time since moving. Time has allowed me to think, to examine, to remember. Time has allowed me to remember that I’m not just blindly trying to make it to the next day, to the next exciting moment, to the next bearable second. Time has caused me to remember depression, and to remember hope, and to remember passion.

After the election, I was reading so many disheartening things and telling myself to get involved, promising myself I would get involved, and, yet, that didn’t happen. Instead, I quit social media, (namely Facebook), and disconnected from the vast reality that didn’t directly involve my child. This was negative in so many ways. Hiding from negative reality never makes it better; the auto pay bills deplete the bank account, the not auto pay bills fall into delinquency, the job does not get secured, the ability and the want to socialize is lost, and all of those little things that get ignored add up until suddenly, at any moment, they might topple the whole tower. And the whole damn thing is just too overwhelming. Which leads to more hiding. Cycle begins again, a much worse version of The Song That Never Ends.

I have some issues that need to be worked out, and it is becoming clearer to me that the need to get them worked out is becoming more pressing as I age. It’s a weird thing, depression. It’s hard to explain without sounding like you have chosen to hide out just because some of the time you are able to function. But I’m going to say this is NOT the life I have actively chosen. Something inside of me has been setting me up for disappointing myself since I was a kid. It was so much easier to shake off then, because there are so many years to make changes, to do better, to fix the things you can fix. And then time comes along and fucks with everything and suddenly you’re a middle aged single mom having the same twenty year long crisis you’ve been having and nothing mentally has changed. Add into that anemia and IBS, and single mom-hood, and exhaustion and depression seem to just become the norm.

Time and reality and history and memory, we’ve been having a battle for years. History, as much as it strives to teach us how to avoid mistakes and continue the good, is a load of horseshit. History is no more than a subjective take on a past we cannot understand. It isn’t made up of facts any more than this blog post is fact based. Some believe the Bible is fact, yet that doesn’t take into account dinosaurs or carbon dating or evolution. History has for years been portraying Columbus as discovering America, glossing over the way America treated and still treat, many Native Americans, and I can say in all my years of school, I never once learned anywhere about Japanese internment camps in the United States. I mean, we have this society that is growing scarier and more Orwellian each day that passes, and yet, has history with McCarthyism and internment camps and Nazi Germany been teaching us anything? Has the last eight years taught us, as a nation, anything? History, the portrayal of reality in the past, it’s all completely subjective. Vast history is the portrayal by one or a few, with their understanding and interpretation, with what they decide is relevant and worth discussing. We as humans believe what we want to believe. From CNN to Fox News to scary Alt right Nazi propaganda, to believing a man with millions and about a million scandals and shady business deals gives two shits about the poor and middle class. And memory? That’s the most unreliable interpretation of reality, of the past, of time that one has. Yet it’s our memories we use to shape our personalities, to shape our realities, our histories, our entire conception of self, (with some biological nature mixed in). And it’s amazing to me that, with something as unreliable as memory and reality, as humans, we make it anywhere at all. Granted, this is my own personal interpretation of these concepts; but language is arbitrary, thus concepts are arbitrary.

I sit and I think about all this stuff at night, think about the impossibility of death and nothingness yet how it is inevitably unavoidable and the idea that something that existed no longer exists as it was, it drives me crazy, causes anxiety, and there are few ways to distract the mind when it gets so bogged down with this bullshit.

I’m trying to be better for myself, but especially for my son. I’m trying to get insurance, because I need help. I need help. And my child needs to know that, with the genetic lineage he is predisposed to, it is okay to ask for help. And I can admit that I need help. Here. But with friends, with family, well, I’m just not there yet.

But I’m working on it.


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