A Word Aptly Spoken

I have written extensively through this blog about myself.  I’ve written of the struggles of dealing with depression.  I’ve written about faith.  I’ve written about my dread of the future in today’s political climate. I’ve railed about what I see as a dirth of moral character and an abundance of cruelty in our so-called leaders that somehow the American public actually elected.  I’ve written of books I love and people I love.  And I’ve written about times when people let me down and when I let others down.   

To continue that tradition, I am writing about where I am right now in the struggle through grief, depression, anxiety, frustration, and loneliness.  If that just sounds awful to you, stop reading now.  Hell, I don’t really know if anyone does read this blog or if it is just a way for me to sort out thoughts that I would never have the guts to voice aloud in front of anyone.  It could probably live on my laptop or in a notebook and never see the light of day, but it has, at times, somehow made a difference to me that I fling it out into the world. Sometimes it takes the emotion with it. Sometimes it clarifies things for me. It is absolutely something I do for myself and my own reasons.

Today I’m trying hard to think of flowers, and mojitos, and a lake-house, and other things that bring a smile.  But all I’m seeing are the first letters – FML.

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH…

I went on to write in detail how I got to where I am right now.  And it’s all whiny, bitchy, and yada-yada-yada.  I wrote about being alone, not being included in plans with friends, not being able to ask for a shoulder to cry on through the last eight months…. I wrote about how I will never be able to forgive myself for not being there when either of my parents died – or with my grandmother for that matter.  I wrote about the heartache of knowing that I tried so hard to take care of my dad’s sister and tell her of his death as kindly as I could while making she she wasn’t alone only to have her hear about it in the most cruel way possible.  I wrote about how the mistress won and I lost and am still losing.  I wrote about living up to my ex-husband’s favorite description of me (stupid as hell) through my efforts to work through the finances and legalities of settling an estate. I wrote about why I can’t call on others for support and how decimated I am by my son.  And if you are still reading this, consider yourself lucky because I just condensed pages of text into this paragraph.  

Obviously I’m having a big old party here. Pity party – table for one.  

And I wish there was one person I could turn to today.  There isn’t.  I have people who will cut me off to tell me all about their lives as if mine is nothing,, people who are busy, people who will get too emotional to be supportive, or those who will tell me to calm down – as if that ever works. Has there ever been a time that someone told you to calm down without making you just explode further?

I wish my faith was strong enough to endure right now.  It isn’t.

Fuck. My. Life.  I want to step off the road and walk away from everything.  If you’re ready to turn me in as a potential danger to myself, don’t bother. I don’t have enough faith and I’m too big a coward to do anything to myself. 

I learned way too well from my parents that I should worry about what everyone else thinks, so I’m not going to tell the people who have hurt me how I feel. 

I’m just ready to go find some cabin in the woods where I can just be alone with no expectations.  If you expect nothing, you can’t be too damn disappointed.  Can you?  But I don’t even have the courage or the gumption to do that.  

And so I’ll fling this out into the universe not really expecting anyone to read it. And understanding that it’s pitiful and that it is my mess to fix. It’s kind of like that message in a bottle that some poor sucker throws out into the ocean.  So for today and maybe for a few days, I’ll sit here and interact with no one.  Maybe I’ll commune with the bottle of “Fascist Tears” I bought last week or just go and soak in my Jacuzzi. The hot water will feel good but it has to be without the jets since they’re broken.  And I’ll wait to see if this is a bout of depression, anxiety, or just reality.