A few hours ago, I would have told you I had no business writing about this.
It is about 2:30 pm, and I am still in my pajamas. I did shower, though. I have this policy about that- the worse I feel, the more I make sure I shower, brush my teeth and spray some sniffy stuff on.
I may have gotten back in my pajamas- to be comfortable, but dammit, I’m still going to take care of me.
I didn’t feel particularly like it. I have this policy because one of the things that happens when you get kind of locked into depressive episodes- man, that self care’s got a way of just going out the window. I don’t mean the vapid bullshit which passes for self care but is really just narcissistic indulgence- I mean, genuinely giving a shit about yourself.
Lately, with everything going on, it really feels as though I make about a hundred phone calls a day in between the other things I need to do. I fill out form after form after form.
A large part of why I started doing what I do again is in spite of plenty of people telling me to just focus on the massive undertaking of college while parenting- I’m just not the sort of person that handles not working, very well. For me, it’s really unhealthy. I can take breaks, I can rest, and I can balance- but, this whole hiatus thing: it isn’t me. Even my hobbies tend to be what others consider work. That doesn’t stress me. No, I get stressed when I am not busy.
I can’t stand it, it makes me depressed, which makes me even more not busy, which makes me even more depressed.
I also put a lot into perspective- it’s something I’ve learned to do for myself and won’t do for anyone else unless asked, explicitly. It isn’t in me to gild somebody else’s pain. That’s shitty and denies them their own process. The process is important.
Adjusting financially and just in general to suddenly having two teenagers has not been easy at all. Holding and talking to and seeing the pain of one of them at having lost a father- and not being able to do anything about it, but also, being there out of necessity rather than knowing what to say. Because what the hell can you say?
Watching my partner struggle with the pain at the long process of losing his mother to cancer- watching his mother trying to get her head around it, cope, and come to terms. Watching them both suffer, trying to help. There is no way to help this.
Helping my eldest figure out just what he’s gonna do as an adult. Not really helping all that much because he’s kind of aloof anyway. Worrying.
So, this morning, the first thing I read is a story about how MGM is suing the victims of the Vegas shooter. Landmark case, seriously.
I don’t turn a blind eye to the news. I try to stay well informed because there are things which matter and being a part of actively DOING SOMETHING is a thing. Some politician is being slammed for being into Bigfoot Erotica. Shit is surreal. I’m like, this weirdly perplexed blend of half assed fury and confusion- no fury at Mr. Bigfoot Lova Lova, just..um, well…okay?
I read the damn comments.
Article about HIV on the rise in countries that still outlaw and penalize anything short of good ol’ hetero- and man, I read the comments. It was the first one, she was so damn vehement, so damn nasty- about something that has never impacted her at all. And factually incorrect, which does seem to somehow go hand in hand with this shit, more often than not.
Ugh, ugh, shake it off. That’s when I went to shower. Because no. Just no. My to do list is way too brutal today to be confused and ragey. I answered a couple of emails to my professors and I practically scalded myself in there.
That’s when it happened. Time to do the calling around.
I got quite possibly the ugliest human being the state has to offer in a phone call about getting some help for Kurt’s mom. You know, I tend to err on the side of “Maybe they’re just having a bad day” and I never forget that no matter how somebody else is: I am who I am and I’m not about to be That Bitch.
In this case, being That Bitch would have probably caused more problems than they solved anyway- but it is just beyond me how you get mean on somebody dealing with these kinds of things. I kept thinking, during the pauses between her judgement calls and her pointed questions- “Maybe she’s dealing with some things, too. Maybe there’s a reason she’s got a bunch of non-cosmetic craft glitter in her vag, I don’t know. Calm. Be you.”
I made it through the call but my god, I felt shitty. Lower than dog shit.
If I take a step back, intellectually, I know very well that every nasty thing she said, every assumption and every thinly veiled insult in the form of a pointed question was on her. Her heart, her mind, rotting under the burden of whoever she blames for whatever she goes through.
Emotionally: It’s not enough. You’re not doing enough. You can’t do enough. What good are you? WHAT GOOD ARE YOU? You’re gonna fail everything and everyone.
Alright, asshole brain.
Here’s the thing, though- there are going to be times like this when you have got to step back. I know this. I have known this for a long time and it is why I do step back. It’s not so much about getting perspective- perspective comes, whether some well intended idiot tries to lay it on you in some cliched old truism or not.
Typically, when you’ve had a chance to rest. To recover.