I am avoiding talking about all the real things. If I talk about the thing that makes me paralyzingly sad, I will be too sad to function. Duh. But really. It’s true. If I talk about my favorite TV shows and ice cream and the dumb thing I did today, then I can keep moving and breathing and getting out of bed.
I write this to be cathartic, but I don’t often use it that way. I talk about my relationship. I bitch about work. I drool over a cookie I ate today. I write about politics and then delete it because it just makes me angry and instead talk about my dog.
How the actual fuck do people survive devastating things without annoying everyone around them or collapsing into an immovable ball of tears or both?
Day 115 – I…Sad.
I spent the day helping my friend move. He has helped me move no fewer than 4 times. I have helped him move 0 times. (He’s never moved…calm self.)
I hated every damn second of it. When I moved, I had approximately 1,000,000 things to move and he helped me do it without complaining even once. He had: a bed, dresser, box of clothes, some little knickknacks, shoes in a suitcase, a few board games, and a bookshelf. You would have thought based on my annoyance and exhaustion that he had as many things as I have. Not even close. AND we had help. AND I barely did anything. I complained when he asked me to make his bed while he carried in other items from the U-haul. I sighed and moaned when I had to take the clothes out of the garment bags, and not just leave them there. I almost hyperventilated when he asked me to go through one of the boxes when I was just uselessly sitting on the floor pretending to be useful. How dare he?!?
My instinct is to blame how overall tired I am from being sad all the damn time. Sadness takes a lot out of you. I imagine it’s similar to hatred/anger. I wouldn’t know, because I feel them both simultaneously, so I can’t tell them apart. It is exhausting to be wrecked from sadness, though.
I have almost no patience for anyone or anything. I get upset when people ask things of me or expect a normal level of participation/help/being present/caring/showing up. So I “helped” my friend move but really I wanted to sleep in the corner and believe I was anywhere else, living someone else’s life.
Not moving that stupid, heavy dresser with its stupid, heavy clothes and its stupid, heavy expectations that I be normal.
Day 97 – Just be normal
Getting out of bed is the worst. I don’t know why, when we’re such an advanced species, we haven’t figured out a way to avoid this. I mean, I like to exercise (do I though?) and I like to eat (obviously I do) and we all have to use the bathroom (I read Everyone Poops when I was a kid, so don’t lie to me), but if we can get to the Moon, we can clone a sheep, and we can keep Betty White alive for 1,000 years, why can’t we figure out a way to sleep longer and have shorter work days? Also, not get out of bed at all – that’s what I really want.
It’s not just getting out of bed. It’s putting on pants. It’s facing the outside world. It’s interacting with other humans. It’s pretending you have your life together when you’re dreaming about getting away from them and back into bed. The entire day just feels like time away from my bed.
Getting up is hard to do. I did it, though. It was 11:30 am when I finally got up, but I have bad insomnia so I don’t fall asleep until 3, and then I wake up every hour after that, so… Basically, I’m trying to say, don’t judge me for being lazy and useless. I am those things, but, like, don’t judge me, please. We all have our battles.
I can’t shake the sadness some days, most days. Today was that day. Is that day. Is it time for bed yet? I’m exhausted. (It’s 12:39 PM as I’m writing this. I’ve been up for an hour.)
Day Ten – Tired of my own shit.