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.
Trying to get myself together. I’ve talked about the fear that accompanies me with everythung I do and think. It makes it difficult to make decisions. Each choice is threatened by fear of potential outcomes, fear of not having enough information to be “right”, fear of what happens if I make a choice and everything falls apart.
So I’m depressed and sad and tired of it all and the choices that I need to make only make that worse. I can do anything, but I can’t do everything. And making one choice, could make other choices unavailable, or cost money and might result in debt without result if something goes wrong.
Im so tired of being afraid.
And also, my dogs are dead. I don’t have dogs anymore. Lily died first. She got ill and I couldn’t take care of her. What little money I had, I used for the vet but it required more than I had. I took her to the vet dirty and afraid and sick and I left her there. I wish I hadn’t done it that way. I wish I had stayed with her. She couldn’t get up and I couldn’t carry her. I think I did the best I could; I regret that I couldn’t have done better.
Bruce died a couple of weeks later. His spine was injured or naturally degenerating and he was losing the use of his rear legs. I wanted to deny it was happening because I was afraid of the cost; afraid that it was fixable if I had the money. It wasn’t fixable and I didn’t want to know that either, really. But he was in pain and soon wouldn’t be able to walk. I was able to stay with him though and watch him leave.
Heartbroken doesn’t feel like a sufficient enough description.
I think about my self all the time now. How I never hear your name any more. I used to say it at least 100 times a day – your full name because you would smile when you heard me say it or at least I remember it that way. Your smile. I want to talk to you, talk about you; hear about you, hear from you. I think about how much I miss you; how my life is emptier and lonelier and scarier than I thought could be possible for a life to be. I think about my life without you in it. Not like before, I thought of you in the world; had a hope always that I would see you again. I would think of you and think of how much I had liked you; was okay that you rejected me; still wondered what you were doing, where you were. Occasionally, looking for a sign of you somewhere.
I think about that moment I saw you again. I remember how the people in the room disappeared and there was just you. I stared at you. I walked your way not sure if you were you; not sure if you would know me. I said your name and barely anything else. You gave me your number. Nothing could stop me from using it.
And now it is a world without you in it. and I spend way to much time thinking only of me. without you.
I realized last night that I have never on my own picked my place to live. It’s been found for me or provided by others. I’ve lived with the people who found my home until they’ve left or I’ve left. Usually if I’ve left, it’s because we both left the place. I’m okay once I get the place but I feel overwhelmed by making the choice of where to live.
I don’t usually think of myself as an indecisive person. Although since Xina died it seems that I just let decisions make me. Sort of hang on until I have to let go, then hang on to the next thing until I have to let go of that. It’s clearly not a good decision making process. I feel anxious, unsure and disenfranchised.
I’ve been without my stuff for almost 3 years now. August 2015 seems like a whole lifetime ago. July 31 2016 seems like it just happened.
How do I make what I know useful? Maybe it’s just not as useful as I think it is and I should find something else.
We used to argue and I would shout when it seemed like I wasn’t being listened to but that just made her double down on not hearing me.
I would be rational and responsive until I was bullied or ignored and then my voice would get loud until I shut down.
That won’t work for what I want now. i don’t know what else to try.
I wasn’t sure if I would make it through the first episode; actually I knew I would make it through the first episode because I almost always hope it would get better, I wasn’t sure if I would go on to the second.
I am not a fan of ironic racism/bigotry, even when it’s spread around to as many marginalized groups as possible. You always know whose on the pedestal.
Anyway, it got better. Still problematic.
“Rejection is the sand in the oyster, the irritant that ultimately produces the pearl.” ~Burke Wilkinson
The thing is not every oyster irritated by sand will make a pearl and not all pearls are the same.
The optimist in me understands the nature of irritants. Irritants are challenges to be met; changes to my world that I might not voluntarily make but which can lead to my growth and expansion. Opportunities can be created by irritants.
The Skeptic in me knows that one doesn’t always get pearls. Sometimes the most one can get is to get rid of the irritant; just be done with it instead of continuing the irritation. Irritants can be dealt with in various ways; some of those ways may indeed result in pearls. The Cynic is wary of pearls. But then all I’m left with is the irritant without the optimistic joy of possibilities and pearls.
I suppose the issue is that when I’m feeling cynical, I don’t care about pearls; I’m wrapped in the horror of the sand. The downside of that thinking is that maybe I miss the opportunity to work on my pearl making.
scared…there’s stuff to do that; things that aren’t hard. There’s just this feeling of needing to do everything right or everything falls apart. That’s my fear. I just need to do what needs to be done. i don’t have to do it perfect.
I have dark thoughts, mingled with the optimism. Maya Angelou said, about Stamps Arkansas that it was a place where she was “terribly hurt and vastly loved” and that phrase sticks with me as an adequate description of life: a place where I have been terribly hurt and vastly loved.
I don’t want to think this way. I want these dark thoughts to be gone from my head so that what would be left is hope and optimism and gratitude all the time. I don’t even know what that would look like to be relentlessly optimistic without the darkness.
I am afraid and trying to make no moves for fear that any move will cause this place I am in to fall completely to pieces. I am afraid of “complete destruction” of my life as I’ve known it. I mean really my life as I had known it died with her. and I’m in this nothingness. so what is there to be afraid of? that is the thought that terrifies me because if the darkness takes off with it, then I’m likely to be dead soon.
dark thoughts are just thoughts. just thoughts.
feedback: not a good fit and not “technical” enough for the role. If I believe they are right, then it negates the last 16 years of experience and capability building I’ve done.