I didn’t die; I’m still here.

Amazing how I can go from writing almost daily to nothing in a matter of months.  Work has taken so much out of me that by the end of the night, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry or fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.  I have never been able to comprehend people’s behaviors.  Even my own.  Whenever I try to justify an action or thought, it gets twisted and mangled in supposition and doubt.  And what feels worse is that when I try to describe my feelings to someone, they either don’t get it or they don’t believe it’s as bad as I say it is.  The only thing I can think in return is, if it’s not as bad as I say it is, why have I turned to this negative behavior?  I’m not doing it for my amusement, my joy, because it brings none of those things.  I’m doing it because it’s the only way I can see things helping, because I lack the maturity and the knowledge to move forward in a more productive way.

The other day I was attempting to describe this pit of despair I feel when it comes to my past, my present, and my future.  I feel like the last five years have held some life altering moments (more than some, quite a few) and that I am not sure what to make of them.  When I look at everything I become paralyzed because the person I became is not the person I dream of, and I am not sure which way to move.  It’s like a crazy-fun-house-of-mirrors; everywhere you look you see a different reflection and through it all, you can’t find the door to get the hell out of the nightmare.

Were the last five years pointless?  I remember happy times, but when I let myself think about them, they become overshadowed by all my insecurities.  Not just about relationships, but about my life choices, my life goals, my life in general.  It’s hard to admit to those things, and hard to reconcile that maybe all I have done for the past X amount of time is floating in time and space waiting for something grand to happen to me.  I have to make it happen to me.

I have yet to find contentment, and with that happiness.  A friend once said that looking for sublime happiness is a silly pastime, because we are happy in moments.  It is not something that sustains, but we can weave a web of happy moments to create a happy life.  We should chase after those moments, not wait for them to come upon us.  And thinking about that in the context of my work really makes me ultimately sad.  Yesterday, my boss and I had this small communication in which she said, “It’s not the work, the work is okay, I enjoy it some times, it’s all the other stuff.  It just gets me down, it bums me out.”  I heartily agreed.  The “other stuff,” the I-can’t-do-anything-right-because-I-piss-someone-off stuff, it just has taken such a toll on me that it is leaking into the other parts of my life.  People have told me time and again to not let work mingle with my personal and social life, that I should leave the arguments and passive aggressiveness, the meanness and drama, at work, and not bring it home where I can relax, but when things become personal and the problems at work no longer are about ACTUAL work, it’s hard to not mix the two.  It’s no longer about who is the better worker, who has the most potential, who is right for the job, it’s about mean, rude, pointed comments directed at me.  And the best part about the conversation I had with my boss is that she knows, she knows, that I can empathize 110%.  She’s seen and heard all the rude remarks, the bullshit comments, and reflected on the contradictory situations that have infected her personal life as well.

I know there are things that make me happy (writing, reading, photography, painting, research – yes, research people, I like to learn things, good food, cooking, occasional video-gaming, music) but I do such a poor job of integrating them into my life.  And as of late, I haven’t had the energy to meld them to my daily routine.  I used to listen to music every morning.  Jonathan can attest to this.  I would wake up in the morning, take my shower, begin my make-up and hair routine, while listening to music.  I would occasionally dance around the apartment, singing and making a fool of myself, and it would instantly put me in good mood for the day.  Somehow even that simple thing has dropped off.  Same with waking up extra early to get in a few good hours of reading.  I drag in the morning because it means facing what I know will be a tedious day.  But then again, self-fulfilling prophecy plays an important role…

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