Maybe someday I’ll lose weight and make a million dollars a day and save all the dogs and help my family and run a marathon (this somehow seems the least likely to me) and watch my own show on TV and save the planet/reverse climate change and travel everywhere on my list.
The least likely one of those is actually lose weight. I don’t know why. I probably don’t care about it all that much. When I’m tired/bored/anxious/sad/annoyed/tired again/any other feeling, food seems like the only thing that makes me feel better at all.
Day 123 – Weighed Down
If I don’t call my mom, I won’t have to know if anything else bad has happened, right? But then I leave her there, with her pain and her pile of work and worst of all, my father.
I never know what I’m supposed to do. Live my life? Live her life? Move back and help her? Move on and help myself? Call? Don’t call?
I so often choose not to call. I know. I’m the worst.
Does it get easier?
Day 121 – So tired
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
I had a really good day externally, and a really bad day internally, but the important thing is that I checked everything off my to-do list.
I also added things that I happened to do today to my to-do list after the fact so that I could have a longer, more complete list. If you don’t do this, get on it, it’s a great way to look like you did a lot, such as “Shower” and “Brush Teeth” and “Eat Lunch.” I am an expert at lists.
So I nailed that part of the day like a boss. Then came the reminder that I am never very far from the grief. It cycles. Guilt and expectation are big components. Mostly because of my Mom.
Feel guilty. Feel terrible. Feel sad. Feel deep grief. Feel guilty. Laugh at a joke in my head. Feel guilty about laughing. Laugh at another joke in my head. Open up the “Notes” on my phone to write the joke down. Feel guilty while typing. Receive text from my mother mid-typing full of guilt and criticism. Forget what was so funny. Remember grief. Rinse and repeat.
The only two pluses I can think of are that A. My house is now very clean due to stress-cleaning and B. I will probably be able to fall asleep tonight despite my insomnia because emotions and crying tired me out.
Day 35 – Guilty conscience and oh so sleepy.
I’m currently sitting in the hallway of a hotel because my friend doesn’t like the light from my computer (which I turned away from her). And it’s not that I can’t or don’t understand her concern, but she and her boyfriend had played video games on their individual Switches for an hour before deciding they were going to bed, so apparently everyone should be going to bed, and now light is annoying.
It’s not that I’m complaining (I am); it’s just that I find it really annoying, but also I feel anxious about it. I try to be as accommodating as possible to other people. You are freezing cold but I’m so hot I feel like I’m melting? That’s okay, turn off the AC. You want to get up at 6 am, but I’m exhausted and want sleep? That’s okay, I’ll get up. You want to skip breakfast because you ate a big dinner? That’s fine, I’ll ignore my body when it enters starvation mode.
Yes, I am being sarcastic, obviously. I hate it. I really do all those things. I sacrifice myself to be accommodating to other people. But I don’t do it very willingly. I make snide remarks. I remind them that I did it. I mention how hot, tired, hungry I am on repeat until you want to kill me. But I still insist on doing the accommodating thing.
So tonight when my friend got annoyed at the light from my computer, I stepped out into the hallway to write there, and promptly locked myself out. But if light keeps her awake, knocking on the door will certainly do so. Thus, my conundrum. Thus, the opportunity to think about how I will be seeing my mother in less than 48 hours. I was originally ignoring this fact. But when it’s just you and the hallway lights of the hotel and some questionable carpet you’re currently sitting on, your thoughts drift to your mother. Freud would be so proud (or just vindicated). I will be sitting at her kitchen table, being asked why I didn’t wash my hair or why my clothes look like that or why I gained weight or how come I’m not dating that cute neighbor boy from when I was 7 and he used to throw things at me. 44 hours and counting…
Day 13 – Stressed, anxious, and locked out, alone, in a hallway.
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.