I stopped wearing dresses a long time ago. But there was a time when, since I felt I had to wear them, I liked a few; more precisely I liked two. One was a sort of casual dress. It was turquoise, which was and is a good color on me. It buttoned down the front, had one breast pocket and two side pockets, real ones, deep ones. Twirled when I spun. The second was my “dressy” dress. White lace collar, small flowers. black and white, made out of some lightweight fabric, couldn’t tell you what that was.
Anyway the point of this is that both dresses had pockets which were the number one consideration before everything else, even color and “dressiness”. Most of the time, it was clear to me that dresses were not my thing but that it was a thing I would have to manage until I could figure out something different.
Something different is cargo pants. pockets, pockets, pockets.
Was hired to a job in October. Five months of paychecks change a lot. having a job changed a lot. I didn’t change well not depressed as much. still anxious but different things make me anxious. looking at apartments. so it’s better.
I want to die. Everyday, a little bit; a lot a bit. I kill myself slowly; more quickly in my dreams. Violently. Silently creeping across the world on my knees trying to die without dying. Hope makes this possible.
Am I the light or the darkness? Am I the fine line that makes me know they both exist? An edge of an edge, blending, bleeding over into both; the shadow of each incarnation.
You thought you were god. Your petty little dreams proof of supremacy and yet what gods are knocked on their asses by a little death, disappointment, a little bad timing? You were never going to be a god with such tiny little hopes and fears to match.
Expose all of it: your ugly self, your indistinct from any, separate from none dull aches and pains, the crosses you built to bear? To bare? Both. Either. You think smallness is a curse. How blind.
All this beauty and you think death, your death could make it go away. Shame on you. Shame.
between last year’s another year post and this year’s post have been 6 posts. still depressed. still me. still here.
I took a big leap from where I was to where I wanted to go and it seemed to be going well for a while. I suppose it was the updraft of initial success; I got into a program, I moved and someone loved me whom I loved dearly. Then it all fell apart.
Signs were there for part of it. I needed to sell my house for a profit and I didn’t. She died and I lost my mind. I didn’t plan financially for the shortfall in order to get back there. I’ve had difficulty finding work. Depression and Panic and Anxiety moved in. Everything got that much harder and she is gone from this world.
I’m in free fall and panicking; hoping praying that wings develop or another updraft comes or the ground is soft wherever I land.
There is Monster, Little, Goo, Case, She and an as yet unnamed Shadow who is everything Anger. There is also an I who is stuck sitting on a chair outside of a hospital emergency room bay.
Case will follow most directions without thought. We need a job, Case carries out the plans whatever they may be to make that happen. Currently Case is working on the thought that revamping our resume to more narrowly focus its contents for the job we want will bear fruit. We are considering a career/life coach.
Goo will sleep as long as She can force us to sleep. Goo feels there are too many hours in the day for disappointment and if we sleep, we will have less disappointment to contend with. Goo and Monster are at odds; Monster argues on behalf of Case about all the “shoulds” that Case could manage if Goo would relinquish this habit of giving in. WE should get up. WE should shower. WE should find a job, any job. It is not our potential we need to feed; we need to keep our Things. The morning fight is tiring. Goo wins most often.
Little will follow Goo’s lead though she prefers Monster. Little has gone silent as she is quite afraid of She because She wants to kill us all; more accurately She wants us to die. To stop. To give up dispassionately our passionate need for hope and Life even though it comes with the pain of I sitting on a chair outside a hospital emergency room bay.
Monster keeps food in us, not great food, not enough food for joy; just enough for not feeling ill or too tired. Monster is a barbarian who loves Little too much to let us die but does not know what to do next and has no means to ask. Monster believes in no one but Little and can go no where without her. Little can make Monster laugh. Monster can coax little from under the covers. Monster sometimes makes Little brave. Little sometimes makes Monster beautiful.
There is also Lazy who is a host of other things but mostly lazy and talkative as long as the talk is about how worthless, incompetent and full of bullshit we are. Lazy accepts no blame or all blame; there is no middle way. Lazy holds the shovel that helps us dig the pit we are in.
The unnamed shadow takes it all and turns it into something She can use against us. Case will try just about anything but there’s no one to tell Case how to get from there to wherever or how to want so she keeps trying to be anything to anybody who will listen and succeeds only at being nothing to everyone. Little is rightfully frightened. Monster is single-minded muscle and Goo is too much of everything all at once to do anything but make wishes. Lazy is cheer leading our doom. She will be the death of us.
I am sitting on a chair outside a hospital emergency room bay and will not or cannot move.
I don’t know how to go back and going forward is proving to be quite difficult. I don’t want to continue suffering. I’m unable to stop myself.
I’m not sure which matters: did I fail or did I choose badly? If I go down the path that says I failed, then I sort of feel okay about it. That means that I can try again and do some things differently. Or it means that I can’t accomplish the task. It’s too hard or I don’t have what it takes to accomplish the task. Okay but not really. If I am incapable, I feel like that says a whole raft of things about me that I don’t want to believe are true but that may be true nonetheless. I’ve failed before. It doesn’t kill; maims just a little but I survive.
But if I chose badly, I find that almost insufferable. If I chose badly then everything I’ve learned up to now, everything that I thought I knew about myself and what I want and what I know is wrong and how can I choose again knowing that?
And then there’s the thing about doing the same things over again expecting a different result. Point of fact, I’m not expecting a different result, I would be actively working for a different result. Is that enough? Does that make a difference?
I have this moving image in my head of myself right now of this broken entity dragging and gathering shards and pieces of myself around me. I want to put myself together again but I can’t. The pieces themselves refuse to go into the places I try to shove them. As if I refuse to be remade the way I wish to remake myself. IF I cannot remake myself the way I was, into what will I be remade? The pieces I have are the pieces I have. Anything I throw away will leave a hole, won’t it?
And so I just keep dragging my broken self around trying to find a place to put myself together again or trying to find a path to be on that accommodates this broken thing I am without crushing anymore of me than necessary. Stay or leave?
end of another year without you. another year treading water in the doldrums. spin another vision girl its the only thing that has ever worked
As of today, the plan is to see if I can get a referral for this job that is like the job that I am doing from the guys that I am doing the job for. If I can go perm, I can go ahead and move out. I can just pick a place.
I dream of being alone in my own place, responsible to or for no one. I can move about in my pajamas unthinking of who I might disturb or who might be concerned about my movements about the house.
I can get up and go back to bed without worrying about any one questioning how long I’ve been lying down. I can get up and go to the bathroom and not worry about who smells what. I can be my sad self in peace as I find my way out of it for better or worse.
I can xbox to my heart’s content. I can do nothing or half do the many somethings that I have started and stopped.
I can learn how to eat again. I can be surrounded by my books again. I need them. I want them. I miss them. I miss what they represent without having realized they represented anything before.
I want to be alone so I can choose not to be.