I don’t exactly think I’ve hit rock bottom, but I feel like my toes maybe scraped it. Have I learned my lessons hard enough, Universe? You can stop sending them to me now, kthanx.
Right now the following is what I want, and the following is ALL that I want (until I decide I need to add something to this list):
Listen. Y’all. My finances aren’t just a wreck at this point; they are a re-fried, dried up, horror movie that would give Stephen King nightmares he couldn’t handle. I always joke about wanting to find a Sugar Daddy or maybe work a pole somewhere…today, these jokes have taken on a certain dark, “if Robert Redford came along and asked me to do incredibly kinky and inappropriate things to and with him for even a mere $30,000 I wouldn’t say no…I wouldn’t even hesitate to accept his Indecent Proposal, cuz hellloooo: ROBERT REDFORD” sense of effed up urgency.
And I’m tired of giving away my power to men.
And I think if you’re working at an elementary school level and you have an ego about your job, something is terribly wrong with you.
And I think Donald Trump is going to be the American Kim Il-Jung.
And I think there are certain people in the world you can only do in very very small doses, that I am one of them, and I work with at least two others.
And I think I probably ought to ask these two people to start a Only Do Us In Small Doses tribe, but I’m pretty sure I’d vote both of them off the island before we even established tribal norms.
And I think a lot of other things too right now, but I don’t want to overwhelm anyone who loyally comes here to read my dreck and/or innocently stumbled upon it.
On a semi-positive note, the pill I’m on seems to be keeping me fairly even, and this is mostly a good thing. I still go into sort of dark, broody moments – places where I spend a lot of time going “WTF?? that was so Fd up that he/she did that, that that happened.” But I’m able to pull myself out of those places and take a deep breath and go: Let it go. Done. Gotta focus on this other thing here. I like being able to do this.
I’ve been on half dose for a week now; tomorrow night I go full dose. We’ll see what happens.
Because I have concerns. The concerns I have about this are that I just don’t care. I still care about a lot of things, but really? if push comes to shove, I just don’t care…unless it’s my credit card balance, and I’m going to come back to that in a minute because, right now, it’s the one thing that is successfully freaking me the crap out.
On the one hand, a lot of people who know me and/or have gotten some of my issues all over them, are going: Oh, no! AMY! What are you even talking about?? This is such a GOOD thing for you! Which I totally get – I can be a handful when I get to over-thinking. But for me, this feels not-me…does that make sense? The reason I’m a tad concerned about not caring too awfully much is that this isn’t really me. I don’t mean caring too much in an unhealthy, codependent way (though historically, that’s been me too), I literally mean: I don’t care. Not in a zero fucks kind of way. This is deeper than that…this is…I…dooon’t….care…
I’d kind of rather sleep and just be quiet. Offline, I’ve been being awfully quiet, even for quiet li’l ole me, these days, and that’s odd. I find that very very odd. I don’t know if I’m doing a very good job here explaining what is happening to me…I care, but I don’t…I spend a lot of time looking off into space, to where people with me will go: “You okay?” …to which I just shrug my shoulders and say, “You know. I mean, it just is what it is.” Then I trail off. And stare some more. Not catatonic, not exactly lethargic, but headed that route.
Detached. Maybe that’s the word I’m looking for…I am detached, and in the extreme.
I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. It’s making it hard for me to write a story, actually, because I feel so detached. I have things, experiences, I want to write about…but I don’t care anymore. And things I kind of don’t actually want to feel too detached about, things I don’t feel like I should feel too detached about, I feel really detached about. I feel detached about what happened to me with the harassment/stalking situation I dealt with a year ago, about my man friend saying good-bye (though I am still struggling with that at a certain level – I wish him well, I will always care for him and about him, but I’m also still ticked about the situation, too, to a certain extent), and just…I’m detached. Internet, I’m detached. And I’m so detached, I’m detached about feeling detached. And I’m so detached about feeling detached, I don’t know how to feel about feeling detached. Or if I even feel enough to feel detached.
But what I’m NOT detached from is when a business goes, oh sorry they just declined your card. That’s when bile rises up in my throat and I drive home going: oh shit. shit shit shit shit shit shit. crap. why do they even give credit cards to people like me???? (answer i already know: because people like me are the easy way the devil collects his souls)
Credit cards. Using them is practically worshiping at the altars of Satan. (To put it into perspective for you: for the last year, year and a half? I’ve often danced nude to Ozzy Osbourne songs in front of these altars, while gambling and games of Dungeons & Dragons and kitten sacrifices carry on in the background.) I really wish they’d make a pill that would detach me from these.
Because I’m not detached from my kid. Or the fact I have no savings. Or that Christmas is coming in about a month. Or that my job likes to pay us early in December and then not pay us again until the end of January which is insane, I’ve always felt. But mostly Christmas, which is (quite frankly) my least favorite holiday of all. It’s expensive and no matter how many Christmas lights you put up, it doesn’t change the fact it’s pitch black by 5:00 PM which is insane, I’ve always felt.
So I guess I’m just going to sit awhile with this detachment and see where it takes me. See how many people I get to keep in my tribe (the good tribe, the one with the sweet people and the caretakers and white knights and lovely princesses…not the one over on Cannibal Island I need to escape). But I just know I do not EVER want to feel like I did about two Sundays ago. That was…y’all. I kind of blame the pill for why that happened. And I’m not sure how I feel about being dependent on taking something just so I don’t go through what that was two weeks ago. That makes me so detached.
And credit cards!
Satan, get thee behind me.
(No, mother…I’m NOT going back to the Methodist Church now. Sorry. Love you!)
Oh my god. Crying. (Obviously, I’m not THAT detached.)