Well, I'm surprised that this is still here. Nothing naughty for my comeback. I'm...in need of a safe space to get my thoughts down in this time, in this world. I hope, with time, to get back to the fun, flirty side of my little slice of Earth. But right now, it's been a year of internalizing and numbness and I can't go on like this.
So if you're still checking in, I hope you're ok with me being real for a little while. Once that's out and I'm feeling ... well, just feeling anything, we'll have some fun.
I promise.
So here's the first thing I've written since - as the title said the world turned upside down.
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I’m honestly not sure where to begin. This pandemic has me all turned around. A year in and you would think I’d have a handle on my emotions. Well, I do. I stuff them down and don’t really think about anything. I walk around like a zombie, trying not to miss anything or anyone. I don’t think about what the world was, is or will be once this is under control – if we ever get it under control.
Any desire or passion to do something – anything – besides read and stare at a screen is long gone. I have no desire to work out, to walk, to dance, to write, to even imagine doing anything creative. And I used to think I was such a free spirit, who could easily adapt to anything.
Except I’m pretty sure I was wrong. So I sit, unable to do the simplest of tasks, and I know, I KNOW, I’m depressed. (And this is the first time I’ve “said” that “out loud”). But other people have it so much worse off than I do, so what right do I have to be depressed? I’m not struggling for food, or for ways to fill my days because I have a job that’s considered “essential”. I’m not worried about a roof over my head and my health, despite being overweight, isn’t as bad as it could be. Or maybe should be.
I don’t have to spend endless hours by myself, like so many others trapped within their own four walls, with no one else in the house, no one to talk to. And a lot of the time I am so grateful for that. But lately, that leads to wishing I was.
I’m tired of people being home. I’m tired of never having time to myself in my own house. I’m exhausted with listening to my mother talk because she’s got no one when I’m at work. I get angry at the drop of a hat, for things that are stupid and ridiculous. Something as simple as planning meals gets me in panic mode.
I don’t want medication. I’m on enough shit. I’ve gained fifty pounds back of the eighty I lost. I feel gross, and I need to get it off again, only this time will be harder than it was before. I know how to do this. I know I CAN do this. Truth is, right now, I don’t WANT to do this. I really just want to curl up in bed and cry. But I don’t let myself because I’m worried that I’ll never stop.
Every morning it’s a fight to get out of bed. I have vacation days. I could easily take one or two and just stay in bed and self-medicate with crap tv and crap food, booze and drugs. But I don’t. I get up and go to work. Because that’s what “adults” do, right?
I tell my friends they have to take care of themselves, but I don’t do the same. I don’t take my own advice. I live in a constant state of internal chaos. I have fifteen projects on the go – in my head. Getting to step one with any of them is a struggle. And 90% of the time, I don’t make it. I have spent so much money on crafts to keep me occupied and they all sit in the closet, gathering dust, wasted dollars and wasted dreams. I can’t bring myself to start them.
I’m a writer, or at least I was. And I can’t remember the last time I really truly wrote something I was proud of. Not something I had previously written and finally edited to satisfaction. Something I start, and finish, within an acceptable time frame. And as much as I want to write, it seems like too much of an effort, so I don’t. Like everything else lately.
I know what everyone says. I’ve seen all the tips. I’ve read all the articles, heard all the cliches and platitudes, seen all the advice.
“It’s ok to not be ok"
“Self-care”
“Make a list”
“One day, one moment, at a time”
“Just breathe”
“It will get better”
“We will get through this”
“Keep in touch”
“Lean on others”
“Keep moving”
The lists go on. Everyone has ideas on how to handle this. And again, I’ve been guilty as well. It seems I’m a genius at dispensing advice, but a complete dumb ass when it comes to following it.
I’ve barely cried since this started. I used to cry about everything. Then my dad died, and there seemed to be very little worth crying over. And now everything on the news is sad, and everything on Facebook is how people are being complete dickwads to each other over wearing masks and trying to stay safe and sane.
The world is falling apart, and I’m heading right along with it. I’m not sure how to handle anything anymore. I let everything go in one ear and out the other. It’s so scary right now. I think it’s truly the scariest time to be alive in history.
I said earlier I had no desire or passion to do anything. But it’s scarier than that. I have no desire or passion FOR anything. My husband and I are ships in the night and right now, I don't think either of us really even notice. I just don’t want to see people. I don’t want to listen to music. I’d be happy with silence (or my white noise machine so I could sleep the days away). I’m absolutely terrified that I am never going to feel passion again. For anything that used to make me happy.
I’m a mess. I have no one I can honestly talk to about anything. Everyone’s got their own problems and I don’t feel that burdening someone with mine is a good idea. Because talking to someone comes with – you guessed it – advice, and I don’t want any. It’s nothing new. Everyone says the same things and I just can’t take any more.
The one piece of advice I did take was when someone told me to “write it out”. So here it is. It’s a jumble of thoughts and it might jump from one subject to another. But it’s out. At least part one is.
There’s a ton more thoughts and issues. And I guess this is the place to get it out.
If you’re reading this, thank you.
And please, stay safe.
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