it is what it is.

Where do we go from here?
How do we carry on?
I can’t get beyond the questions.
Clambering for the scraps
in the shatter of us collapsed.
It cuts me with every could-have-been.

Pain on pain on play, repeating
With the backup makeshift life in waiting.

Everybody says time heals everything.
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?
Are we just going to wait it out?

There’s nothing to see here now,
turning the sign around;
We’re closed to the Earth ’til further notice.
A Stumbling cliche case,
crumbled and puffy faced.
Dead in the stare of a thousand miles.

All I want, only one street-level miracle.
I’ll be a an out-and-out, born again from none more cynical.

Everybody says time heals everything.
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?
Are we just going to wait it out?

And sit here cold?
Well, We’ll be long gone by then.
And lackluster in dust we lay
Around old magazines.
Fluorescent lighting sets the scene
for all we could and should be being
in the one life that we’ve got.

(Ah, Ah, Ah)

In the one life that we’ve got.

Everybody says that time heals everything.
But what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in-between?

Are we just going to wait it out? sit Here?
Just going to Wait it out? Sit here cold?
Just going to sweat it out?
Wait it out.

feeling disconnected, unsure, not welcome.  it is uncomfortable and confusing.  i feel unwelcome in the room and unwelcome in my own skin.  and i am completely aware of the fact that this unwelcome feeling that i am having is coming almost directly from myself. but i’m not really sure what to do about it.

i’ve been thinking quite a lot lately about moving to london, if i can swing it.  i don’t think i can do it until pj passes away, but i’m in no hurry to have that happen.  in fact, if it never happens, i’d be ok with that.  i love that cat!  but he’s 15, and not entirely well, so i know that it is inevitable.  every day i get to have him is a gift and i know it.  but oh how i want to live in the uk!!!!  but when i start to really think that it might be possible, i get scared, which i suppose is only natural.

i keep thinking of myself as an old lady, living in the english countryside, a spinster with lots of cats.  tottering around talking to myself.  not a pretty picture, but certainly prettier than the same old lady living in oakland.

it’s rough being the only girl in a group of 16.  that’s me and 15 boys.  a team that is headed by a manager and senior manager who are also boys.  it feels marginalizing.   it’s only as marginalizing as i let it be.  but it is an uphill battle that needs fighting every day.  i had to have a conversation with one of my team members that who was just recently made a manager that he cannot belittle me in front of the whole team.  he can tease me all he wants, my skin is thick enough to deal with it, but not in front of all the other boys, as it diminishes me in everyone else’s eyes.  although, this person is very parentified and demeaning to pretty much everyone.  if he doesn’t agree with what you have to say, he just poo poo’s it outright and treats the person like they are an idiot for suggesting it at all.  it’s pretty silencing.

i have more to write, but i need to do some more thinking about it all.

i am so stuck.  and one of the problems is that i don’t or won’t do what i need to do to get unstuck.   i’m miserable, but on some level, i must like it, because i won’t do what it takes to be un-miserable.

i must have told sandra a million times, that i don’t want to get better.  a concept that baffled her.    and i couldn’t really explain to her why i don’t want to get better.  but i just don’t.  i don’t care.  i have absolutely zero hope that anything will ever get better or feel better.  i am totally apathetic.

i realize that i can’t complain about my situation if i’m not willing to do something about it, but i’m not really complaining as much as i am just giving a voice to my feelings and my thoughts.  my situation sucks and i am miserable, but it’s almost like i’m ok with it, even if i’m not really feeling ok with it.

iiwii.

sad.
lonely.
tired.
worried.
critical.
frightened.
stubborn.
needy.

holidays are hard.  there are no two ways about it.

it’s hard to be alone.  it’s hard to know that your family, who pretty much has made it clear that you are not welcome, is gathering and celebrating together.  it’s hard to know that co-workers and friends are celebrating with their families.  it’s hard to deal with coming back to work from the break and having to smile and pretend that you had a relaxing and fun holiday, when really, you spent the majority of the time crying your eyes out, (but nobody wants to hear about that).  it’s hard to know that you are home alone, and when you go to the grocery store to buy food, to see everyone buying for their own holiday feasts, it’s easier to just order a pizza.  it’s just fucking hard.

i wish that i was braver and stronger.  if i was stronger, i’d make myself get out of the house and go somewhere where there were people and activities.  if i was braver, i’d just end things and be done.

people don’t understand severe depression.  they don’t understand serious eating disorders.  they want to know, why can’t you just snap out of it?  or why can’t you just stop shoving food into your mouth?  don’t you have any dignity or self control?  they don’t want to understand, i think, because if it can happen to someone else, then it could happen to them, and that is just too horrible of a thought.  maybe that’s not it, maybe i’m just weak of character and too lazy to pick myself up by my boot straps and do something about my situation.  either way, no one wants to see it all up close and personal.

people are quick to cast aspersions and judgments.  i had someone comment on my blog that i was an asshole for posting sandra’s name.  as if by naming her, i was harming her in some way.  it’s no secret that she’s a psychotherapist.  she advertises on the internet herself, but they were just so quick to judge me and think badly of me because i stated her name on my private blog.

i know that people judge me just by looking at me.  i’m tattooed and pierced, and my hair has weird blue streaks in it.  i dress like crap, i’m fat.  i know all of these things.  and i know that people think ill of me just by looking at me.

i do the same thing.  i judge other people.  i sit on BART on my way home and i look at people’s shoes, and i judge them.  do they have nice shoes?  cheap shoes?  old, fucked up shoes?  it’s just something i do.  i judge them by the size of their bodies as well, which is TOTALLY fucked up.  i judge them by the cell phone they are carrying.

everybody does it.  everyone judges other people.  it sucks, but we are human and we do it.  if you say you don’t, you are lying to yourself and to everyone else.

so i guess i shouldn’t feel so hurt that people judge me, but i am.  it hurts.

it might not hurt as much if i had someone to share the hurt with, but i don’t.

i have this digital photo frame on my desk in my office.  it’s all pictures of my animals, past and present.  i see expo, and pierre and nicky every day.  there are some really cute pictures of koi and pj and java too, and seeing them, it just makes me want to go home and cuddle with them.

and, as another non sequitur, i’m sitting here in my office, i can hear other people off in another section of the office, but no one is around… and i just picked my nose.  right here in front of God and everyone.

it’s clear i’ve lost it.  just put me in a home already….

same shit, different day.

feeling lonely.  feeling less than.  feeling like i don’t matter to anyone (which is pretty much the case).  worried about work.  worried about the animals.  worried about money.  hate my life.  hate my body.  hate myself.

that pretty much sums it up.

i am feeling particularly vulnerable lately.  not sure why.  well, actually, that’s not true, it’s probably because it’s holiday season, and that touches on so many nerves for me.

holiday time is family time, and gift giving and receiving time, and closeness time.  a hard time when you are all alone.

and i’m feeling particularly vulnerable at work, it’s like i always butt in and say the wrong thing, and then walk away slapping my forehead, wondering why i couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

i just want to go home and snuggle with my dog.  that’s all i want to do.

thank god it’s friday, that’s all i have to say.

i’ve been having chest pains lately.  chest pains accompanied by a pain in my left arm.  sometimes, i’d get the left arm pain (usually a sharp muscle pain) and that would trigger the chest pain, or i’d get the chest pain and then the arm pain.  i was relatively sure that it was psychosomatic, but after hearing about sparky dying in her sleep yesterday, i started to panic a little bit that maybe it was something heart related.

so i called the kaiser advice nurse last night, but not before first calling my mother.  i was scared and alone and i needed my mommy.  i wanted her to tell me what to do.  instead, she rambled on about who she had run into and, oh wasn’t it amazing that they remembered me, and oh wasn’t it so funny that she’d run into that person, and on and on and on.  she could not tell by the sound of my voice that i was close to tears.  she did not bother asking me how i was, or even why i was calling (i haven’t spoken to my mother in over two months, except for a brief phone call about three weeks ago).  she just ran on and on about herself until i said, (now crying), “i gotta go”.  to which she responded, “ok, well, bye” and i hung up.

by this time, i was crying and shaking and trying to get a hold of myself.  i called the advice nurse, she asked me a bunch of questions, and she determined that it wasn’t a heart attack, but made me an appointment for this morning so that i could be sure.

then i texted sandra, who called me back and talked to me for a while.  i told her that if i died in my sleep, no one would know, and i’d just be dead here.  she said that the police would come to do a safety check if someone reported me missing, but who would report me missing?  i thought about sparky, who was found after she died, when she did not show up to work at her restaurant yesterday morning.

but who would come to my house to find me?  i work 50 miles from where i live.  and i don’t really have anyone that would miss me.  i certainly don’t talk to my parents on any kind of regular basis.

it scares me, the aloneness.  it terrifies me and it paralyzes me.

and i find it odd, that planning my own death doesn’t bother me, because if i were to do that, i would make sure that the animals were taken care of, and i would get rid of my stuff, and i would make sure that someone found me.  but dying in my sleep horrifies me, because i would just be here, dead, and no one would know, and java and the cats would be here with no one to take care of them.

and i realized that i’m traumatized by kaiser and my whole experience of being hospitalized three years ago.  the doctor left and said that before he let me go, he wanted to consult with another doctor, and i was sure that he was going to come back and 5150 me, even though i did not tell him that i was feeling depressed or suicidal, but i was sure he could see it in my eyes, or read it on my body, or something.  i almost ran from the room when he left, but i made myself stay, and when he came back, he just said that i could go, no 5150…

i still have the chest pain.  the doctor, who probably thought i was some crazy hypochondriac, said it was probably GERD (or some other gastrointestinal problem, mainly because i’m fat, and i don’t exercise), even though i told him i don’t have any reflux or indigestion.  so i’m left with that.  pain in the left side of my chest, which causes me to be anxious, which exacerbates the chest pain, and no answers, and a doctor who thinks i’m nuts and fear about dying alone in my house.

i completely and totally lack any kind of self esteem.  i know you are supposed to get that shit when you are a kid.  someone somewhere is supposed to help build you up so that you know inherently, deep down inside of yourself that you are worth something, and that you have some redeeming qualities.

all i can remember feeling when i was a kid was that i wasn’t good enough in any aspect.  i wasn’t smart enough (i didn’t get good enough grades), i was too fat, i was a disappointment in every conceivable way.

and now, as an adult, i think that i am a huge steaming pile of rotting garbage.  there is nothing good about me, i am disgusting, and foul and fat and ugly and unwanted and unloveable.

self fulfilling prophecy?  perhaps, but it is an uncomfortable way to live, and those times when i am feeling most alone are the worst.

i’m sure none of this makes any sense, but it’s what is in my head and it needs to get out so that i can go to sleep.

-iiwii-

i’m not sure why i chose that title.  i do wish i could grow a mustache.   if i could, i’d participate fully in movember… as it is, i can only be an observer.

i often feel like an observer.  i observe other people having lives and friends and fun.  i am so isolated and shut down.  and i am so lonely and sad.

easily fixable you’d think.  but for whatever reason, i don’t want to fix it.  that’s the only thing i can think of, because it’s not that difficult to fix.  it’s not insurmountable.  and there are times when i’m fun, and funny, and out of my own head, and i forget for a minute or ten how much i detest myself and how disgusting i am…

and then i remember and i am plunged back into darkness.

ugh. i can’t even write about it anymore, it’s making me feel kind of sick.