The truth is that I am lost and scared. I do not know what I want, and even worse, I don't know how to get what I want. The truth is that it is after 2am, I have no real job, and still worse, no motivation because like all the relationships in my life, I am scared to try anything because I don't want to be hurt again. "No one likes working with you."
Even finally hearing the opposite from the supposed person who didn't like working with me hasn't reinstalled my confidence. What am I good at? What should I be doing? Not just as a career, but in my life? What goals am I working towards anymore? I have no clue. I'm not really working towards anything. It's a good day if I wake up and remember to brush my hair.
It's as if I feel all this pressure from the world in general to become a mother. That is not in my plans by any means. I am willing to make allowances for changes. After all, I said I would never eat meat again, and then look, six years later...mmmmm beef. (I know how to cook beef now! It's such a big deal.) Where are the other proud, single and non-maternal types? I know they are out there. Why can't they be my friend? And we can rejoice over how thankful we are to sleep in all day, to walk around naked, to not vacuum (shit, the day I move someplace with hardwood floors, I swear I will throw a block party!), to swear, to watch soft porn on TV after dinner, to never eat at the table, to eat dessert and junk food first before dinner...where is that person? Why are you hidden from me?
But then there is the guilt. I have the baby guilt. I want to think that I'm enlightened and empowered by wanting to work (I'm using the term loosely as I am not currently working). But is the opposite of that looking down upon those who choose to stay at home with their children? Still when I look at my peers, I don't feel that way about everyone. Certain people who give themselves up in order to be some ideal housewife they wished their mom had been or dreamt that they would be do come to mind. But other strong focused and educated women I know choose to stay at home. But then I wonder, how do their husbands not resent having to take care of not just themselves, not just a wife, but a whole brood on one salary alone? It almost isn't fair in reverse, because I am no where near a career that could support a family. Hell, I can barely support myself in this snooty forsaken money pit of snobs that is the North Shore. And for some reason I soo desperately love and want to stay in, but that is just nonsense. This place isn't really for me.
Am I on the fence? Am I truly going to be a childless or child free woman? Will a meetcute happen in my future, and I will want to ovulate a baby into reality just to change his diapers for two years, have him learn the best I can, and then they grow up to hate and resent me? Will I find someone who also doesn't want children and then some sort of biological clock with deafen me with the need to reproduce? Just for those unbeknownst to the lingo, childless = negative biological connotation, child free = positive choice driven connotation.
I read something the other day that has actually stuck with me. It was a quote about how we shouldn't compare our biography to another's highlight reel. That's true. I feel the truth in that. In a world fully connected constantly by social media and the demon that is Facebook, I only see the highlight reels of everyone else. Somehow I'm compelled to only highlight my shit storm days. To be fair, in the past 18 months, there have been a lot of shit storm days. Times and events that I feel like no one I formerly knew can relate to. Things that I know other people have been through, and I still feel like I can't connect with them. I think inside my head, "Shut up. I want it to be my turn to talk, and I want you to shut up. I want to keep talking and I want you to listen and nod at the right moments. Whisper that you understand and that it is hard." Is that asking too much? Apparently so because I can't get it.
I never ever mention my dad to my mom. I never bring him up. She only brings him up to measure how the time has passed "since before Jerry was sick" or "after Jerry was sick." And that's it. Casey used to talk about it with me, but I've just let it be still. What could there possibly be to say? I'm jealous and angry that you are older than me and had more actual time with him. I regret not being better at CAD and being in the family business, but it wasn't what I wanted to do. It would have made me miserable. I'm sorry they chose to only have the two of us so far apart in age, and I probably was a mistake in my mother's mind, but I don't doubt that my dad wanted me because I've heard that he wanted more children?
I avoid my mom and Indiana like the plague. When she dies, will I be this grieved? Will she get sick and slowly change the way Daddy did? It's morbid to think about it, but I do. Why lie? It's the truth, and isn't that what this whole thing is supposed to be about? I'm not self-medicating anymore. Which is a good thing I think. It's a lot easier to be clearer now. It's a lot easier to experience stuff. Even with the numbing of the prescription antidepressants that I hate to admit to help me. I hate that I am that person who can be fixed by drugs. But what is better? You may not be in support of big pharmaceutical companies. I'm not. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite. I'm trying to be okay with that. But which choice is better? Wanting to die and vanish from existence OR feeling slightly numb and unable to cry but able to feel, survive and exist?
It's a really shitty question.
Really though, what is even the point of crawling over this information again and again in my mind? It's like pure torture of not knowing what I want or what I should do. Shouldn't there be some kind of feeling of what direction I should be heading in? Was $43,000 of school debt really worth it to still be so confused? I don't think so. Can't someone else help out there?
I guess it's not a very good truth, but it is the truth that I am hung up on. People around me are having careers, having friends, having babies. I don't have any of that.
Staying up this late is bad for me. Usually around now at 3am I start to get a little dizzy. I'm not exactly sure what it is though. I guess it's a sign to get some sleep. But my defiant brain thinks that it doesn't matter because I don't work, and I can sleep in the day, and so I do. A lot. All the time. It's a sad existence right now, but usually I think at least I'm still existing. That has to count for something right? But how many days should pass before that really doesn't count for anything anymore?
The kitties bother me when they are hungry, and they bother me when they want me to come to bed. Trouvez (Insert accent down-up over e) is circling like a hawk. "Come to bed and snuggle with me lady!" I'm just positive that if his tiny meek little meows could be translated, that is what they would mean. So, to bed at 3am I go.
When I read a lot, I want to blog a lot. I want to be a better writer, but I'm not sure I am a very good writer in truth. I just let whatever is in my head spill out of my head. Maybe I will fix it and organize it later. That is how I made it through college. But maybe I won't, and it will just be this trivial nonsense I type out at night.
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