It’s been a day. I don’t mean that like, “Man, have I had a day!” It’s just been a day. No axes fell, no miracles broke through. Just a day.
I’ve been popping the generic Benadryls like Jelly Bellies at night, which has had the dual effects of (1) allowing me at least SOME nightly unconsciousness, and (2) making me miserable. Er. Miserabler. That is, on top of my depression, and my menstrual pain, and the panic I can’t shake off about the impending loss of my driver’s license. Have I mentioned that? I got a letter from the state busting me on not having insurance, which will result in a suspended driver’s license very shortly. BUT, at least I’m sleeping, kind of, somewhat, so yay? Also, haven’t killed myself, so there’s that.
I spent some more time with that one lady today, the one who has been such a lifesaver by her mere presence. This morning, I actually listened to her share some struggles of her own, instead of the other way around. It was nice to forget my issues for a while and just be there for someone else. I used to actually be pretty good at that. Must be like riding a bike.
Of course, I do still have to make a bit of an effort to look “normal” when I’m engaging with normies. You know, people who are NOT broke and homeless and ready to cash in their chips. I sometimes think I’m like Allie from Hyperbole and a Half (remember her?) in that one post where she’s talking about her depression and trying to maintain appropriate facial expressions with other primates, and failing. “What are you doing?” “…Interacting with you.”
(Sidebar: If you never read Hyperbole and a Half, go and READ ALL THE THINGS, especially her posts about depression. And dogs. She stopped updating years ago; whatever she’s up to now, I wish her well.)
Despite my inexpert facility in homo sapiens relationships, it’s definitely necessary. I’m vividly aware of my tendency to isolate during bad times, so I’m fairly proud of the fact that I’ve made all these tiny efforts to connect with other bipeds. PLEASE CLAP.
Running in Place
Still, I feel like I’m in a holding pattern, like a plane that just hasn’t made up its mind to land. I’m twirling in circles, making these efforts that never seem to advance the plot. I made a couple of ultimately fruitless phone calls today, trying to prove to the disinterested-yet-still-opinionated bystanders of my life that yes, I really am trying, I called that place you told me to call and they aren’t hiring or they don’t have funding or they don’t have any openings until after New Year’s. Knuckled down and applied for a few more jobs. Signed up for a very weird and wonky “counseling” app on my non-Obamaphone (which I can still use for Internet as long as I have WiFi); I won’t name the app as I’ve yet to determine whether it’s of any actual use, since hardly anybody actually spoke to me once I signed up.
I keep doing these things. Making the efforts, calling the agencies, applying for the jobs. Saying, “Look at me, see? I’m trying to help myself! ACKNOWLEDGE ME. SEE ME. NOTICE ME.” But the thing is, when a plane’s in a holding pattern, nobody really notices. Sure, at first they do, what’s that plane doing? Why doesn’t it land? Or fly off somewhere else already? But like anything else, a holding pattern that keeps going becomes routine and people lose interest. It’s just what that plane does. That plane doesn’t want to land, it doesn’t really want to help itself, it doesn’t want to find somewhere else to fly. Whatever. Let it do what it wants to do.
I don’t really have a point, but the pink pills are starting to kick in. Good night.