This entry was posted on Friday, October 19th, 2007 at 4:48 pm and is filed under General Word Vomit. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
Sadly, you can only say phrases like, “I’m going to be okay,” so many times before they lose all meaning. “Okay” is such a subjective word anyway – and when “okay” for me is forcing myself out of bed, going to work and not deliberately heading off course and driving to Mexico, I’m guessing I’m closer to “fucked up” on the mood spectrum than anything else.
Decorum prevents me from sharing my issues of late, though suffice it to say, they’re the kind of life altering issues that hurt so deep you wish you had a black eye or a broken leg so that you could have something definable to show for your grief. Instead, people are walking up to me and saying things like, “Wow, do you have the flu? You look horrible,” and “Wow, are you strung out on crack? You look like you need a fix.”
Neither my guy nor I are particularly effective at dealing with crises; his first response is to shut down, and I just want to tuck everyone into bed with homemade chicken soup. We’re quite to stereotypical pair in that respect, I suppose.
Not that it matters. We’re forced into a “wait and see” situation which is only making me sink deeper into my little hovel of self preservation. I’m not sure what scares me most in all this: the ominous quiet, or the potential storm.
What I do know is that strife makes me question the balance of the universe, and whether my currently fucked up position is somehow a consequence of my past actions or if crap really does “just happen” to decent people. Though some of my decisions through the years have been questionable, I stand by everything that I’ve done. But I wonder if that’s enough.
Is it enough to believe in yourself? Is it enough to do what you believe is right, even if it bucks the odds and all aspects of convention? I don’t believe my being this way makes me a bad person, yet I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve somehow doomed myself to a life of turmoil.
What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve chosen the wrong things to fight for? What if my resolve is my downfall?
It’s funny how one big problem can be the catalyst for the swelling of dozens of other issues. All of my fears, all of my anxiety really have very little to do with the one looming issue that plagues me, yet they somehow seem more important. I guess it doesn’t really matter – regardless of how any of this is resolved, whether it’s good or bad, in the end I’m going to be different, and I may well not have the same life that I did, and I guess that’s the scariest part of it all.