That hurt. But I get it.
I get this feeling every so often, and it is almost NEVER wrong, and I am horrified it has come upon me today, but something, somewhere in the circles of my life, is going on which is going to make me feel sorrow or suffer loss or question a relationship or some such thing . . . shit. Not again. I’m having the “diabetic shake and vision blur” thing – maybe I am diabetic? Or, slightly epileptic – like, who was that saint? Teresa of Avila? Right? Whatever it is, something terrible is being done or about to be done. Ugh.
I found this link via THE MILLIONS (click this or title) on Twitter – it’s George Saunders’ advice to graduates – and I read it and WOW. I wish, how I wish, that people took this advice and were kinder – especially to those who have been kind and loving to them, to those who need kindness – BUT, my experience has been, that people are NOT kind, and are MOST likely to be less kind just when you need it most – which has pretty much broken my heart and destroyed me. I loved mostly the wrong people. And trusted people who then found it (find it) easy to forget and betray and treat me like shit. Makes me so sad. I hope they are getting some satisfaction from the fact that they have made me so miserable. Good. Glad I could help them.
Sometimes your friends have to tell you things you wish you didn’t have to hear . . . and sometimes friends should tell you things but don’t . . . and sometimes I just wonder why I bother at all. I don’t understand how any of this happened. I don’t understand why people are so fucking awful. I am, as someone said, “in a way.”
I haven’t turned on my phone, checked my email, nor in any way connected to the world other than this blog and its Twitter connection: instead, I have been sitting outside, in the sun, with the dogs, reading. This might have been the first moment of actual peace I’ve had in weeks. I am having trouble motivating myself to the gym. Perhaps I should skip a day. And stay here, isolated and disconnected.
I am so sad, I don’t know what to do . . . I cannot find myself.
I don’t have a huge number of friends and acquaintances. I have an even smaller number of people I would actually trust with my heart, with my soul, with my thoughts. And my heart, soul, and thoughts are so dark lately, that I have been trying to keep them hidden. When they slip out – thanks to tequila and raging bitch – I lose people. I can’t afford to lose any more.
And too, it seems as if almost all of those belonging to that very small number of people I feel safe trusting, have, themselves, been experiencing the same sort of questioning and doubts as have I: What is it all for and WHY do we do ANY of it?
I’ve deleted my Tumblr, Pinterest, and Facebook accounts. I just deleted 100 Twitter contacts and will likely kill that account tomorrow or – well, soon. Not sure why I haven’t – but – as with stopping smoking and deleting various accounts – I will do it when the voice in my head/feeling in my limited range of feelings says “DO IT.”
Here’s the thing – all my “DO IT” voices of late are about DELETING. Okay. Well, there was entirely too much social media in my life. Too many of my relationships were with people I never see. And too, turns out, that the spin and front people use on social media is not that much different from the spin and bullshit most wear in real life.
Some of my “best friends” and “loved ones” were – in fact – no such thing. They were liars and users and pretenders and sociopaths and it took me being in a crisis to figure out that not only could they not be COUNTED on to “be there” – it was pretty much an illusion that they’d ever been there or loved me at all. Imagine that. I have a genius IQ and an almost total inability to choose people to be in my life who won’t – in the end – sell their own soul and yours too if it satisfies their agenda.
Fucks. So, except for a very few people, I am now depending on the kindness of strangers. I am Blanche DuBois. I am moving to Tarantula Arms. Watch your step.
I can’t even make myself go to the gym. I think I’ve lost it. I. Do. Not. Feel. Connected. To. Anything. I’m not sad. Like I said – haven’t cried in weeks – haven’t even felt like it. Everything seems so completely pointless. No. That isn’t even it. Numb. No. Dead. And I’m not good for people. In fact, I’m bad for people. I move from the bed. To the couch. I feed and play with the animals. I water the plants. I empty the dehumidifier. I mop and vacuum. I read. I try to watch TV but that usually just turns into sleep. Last night a guy tried to text me at 2 in the morning. I’m so dead, I didn’t even wake up. Not that I care. He doesn’t even really know my name. Like that would matter. According to Google, I don’t exist anyway.
Yep that’s all I have to say. People suck.
This morning I woke up and “LET ME BE YOUR STAR” from the late, lamented “SMASH” was playing in my head. I have no idea.
It was 5:30 a.m. Rudy, the crazy beagle who is a guest here (as am I) woke me and the resident doggies, Judah and Sophie. We went outside. I was afraid not to because Rudy – after two days of depositing rather odorous gifts in the house each time I left for the gym – had behaved yesterday but never gone. So, out we went. He didn’t. No worries, long around 9 a.m. on our fourth adventure in the rain, he finally did.
You’d think then, you know, I wouldn’t have expected to find a gift from Rudy when I got back from the gym. But, there it was. Oh, Rudy. Rudy.
In any event, as I was cleaning it up I realized I wasn’t crying. I cry pretty easily. In fact, nearly everything makes me cry. So, uhm, I thought about this, and I realized I have not cried for something like three weeks. I quit smoking a month ago and I seem to have been moved into a depression, and now, what? I’m so dead I’m not even crying?
I mean, I cannot TELL YOU the last time I went this long without crying. Me. Not crying. I have been considering suicide, but, apparently, I am already dead.
And didn’t even notice.