Julia Murney is helping me say a couple of things because I have lost my song and voice and so, I’m borrowing hers to say, for a while, goodbye.
How did we come to this?
The day after the inauguration I noticed the red splotches on my upper right arm, splotches which, within a few months, spread down that arm, then covered the left arm in the same way, top to bottom, next appeared on both legs, top to bottom, soon after painting my torso and back, and here I am, nine months and countless doctor visits and insurance humiliations and additional symptoms later; still sick, having spent Monday and Tuesday of this week mostly in the bathroom, much of Tuesday in tears, feeling a bit better and hopeful yesterday except so fatigued every time I tried to read I fell asleep, and this morning I woke with stomach cramps again, my right heel hurting each step I take, three fingers of my right hand throbbing as if I had spent all night sleep-cleaning with my hands in bleach, and my knees aching so much I was afraid I would trip and fall down the steps on my two trips carrying the pups I’m watching to their morning constitutional, treats, and breakfast, and I feel so disheartened and disgusted and despairing I can’t bring myself to go to the effort to get the thirty or thirty-five new (repeat, mostly) blood tests and chest x-ray ordered by the latest doctor who has, in essence, like all the other doctors told me the other doctors were wrong and she doesn’t know what I have and like all the other doctors, doesn’t think she’s the right one to treat me and all I can think is, any day now, I’ll be losing my insurance anyway because of the inauguration nine months ago and the hateful, idiot bigots who live in and run this country and imagine how I’d be feeling if I lose the ability to get my Wellbutrin.
Yes, it’s a run-on sentence but this past nine months have been a run-on cluster-fuck in my life and the world. And last night, one of my vices slapped me in the face with more ugly reality. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I watch Big Brother. For those of you who have more sense and spend your time more wisely than do I, Big Brother is a reality show where fifteen or so strangers move into a house together and spend a few months trying to be the last two left in the house, at which point the last nine who’ve been voted out by one another become a jury deciding which of the two played the game the best and most deserve half a million dollar prize.
Only, last night, just like in January, a freaking idiot who’d done next to nothing to deserve the title of Winner, won, because the bitter jury members couldn’t stand that the person who deserved to win by virtue of playing the game brilliantly, had outplayed them all — so they denied him the win.
That was bad enough, but that was only five morons so foul and vile they voted for a loser just because they couldn’t be the winner. Still, it bothered me. A lot. What bothered me even more came next.
There is a consolation prize called America’s Favorite where fans call in and vote for the house guest they most like. Over fifteen million people voted — or, there were fifteen million votes, many people doing the vote stuffing thing that happens on these call-in reality/popularity contest shows (perhaps this, too, was Russian interference?) — and only one of the top three was in any way deserving of any admiration, the other two being scum or worse, and the one who won was a misogynist, nasty, hyper-masculine, near-sociopath who’d had NOTHING nice to say about anyone and considered himself morally superior to all of them. A real pig, not unlike the idiot who was inaugurated in January.
I dissolved into breakdown sobs.
Granted, I don’t feel well. Nine months of not feeling well exacerbated by a week of intense to moderate discomfort which is a continuation of these months of never feeling 100% and not knowing from day to day how I’m going to feel or what is going to hurt or not be functioning and having been calling senators every damn day to say “Please don’t take away my healthcare” and then, those Big Brother results, again victory for two undeserving, awful men, awful men rewarded for their lack of talent and humanity; I lost it.
I sat on the couch, a pup on each side of me, a larger dog at my feet, and a cat in my lap, weeping to them, “I don’t belong in this world. I don’t understand this world. There is just so much I don’t get that I thought I got and I will never get and I just am too tired. I can’t fight anymore. I can’t win in a world where these are the choices people make.”
I remember when I believed the world was kinder. And I miss it. I miss that. I miss believing I might be loved, happily ever after, someone to see me — and now all I can see is a world where the majority of people are full of admiration for people who hate and win dirty and ugly and I just, I’ve lost my song, I can’t sing, and I miss the colored lights.
I love Julia Murney. Since I’ve lost my song, she’ll speak for me here. I think it’s time for me to close this blog. It is read less and less by fewer and fewer. Who do I think I am? I know, truly I do, it’s not just me; everyone who has a soul is in existential pain of their own right now. And if after all this time I haven’t managed to find my place, find a partner, find an income, find my health, and worse, have lost my song and lost my writing voice and —well, I can’t keep up with the rules, clearly, I never knew them, or, they change them every time I get close to a win. I am tired. I am lonely. I am defeated. I am broke. I am about to be uninsured. I don’t know where I’m going next. I don’t exactly know where I am now, and so, if I can figure out how to back all the entries up, I think this is going to go away. This will no longer be where I am. Going.