Fooling Myself

I’ve regressed, in my anticipation for the next season of Jessica Jones, a Netflix hit which had my favorite Dr. Who – David Tennant as the bad guy. Could it get any better? I just find his appeal in this not quirky, like when he was the Doctor, or depressed and psychologically challenged, as in “Broadchurch” (please watch the British version only). It’s a little sexy. And I like that. I like seeing multiple sides of actors. Because isn’t that what creates talent?

So from the last episode of Season One:

Maybe it’s enough that the world thinks I’m a hero

Maybe, if I work long and hard maybe I could fool myself

So, am I fooling myself? I have no enthusiasm today.  After the morning rant, I am spent. I will probably spend all day tomorrow cramming for this interview. Only would I let a man fuck this up.

Don’t lock up something that you wanted to see fly

It’s been a shitty week at work. I barely got through it. Pressure pushing down on me, from all sides, it seems. It wasn’t a good holiday weekend/work week. I was exhausted from nothing, or so it seems, because it felt like I just hid out in my apartment. My stomach is a mess. The paranoia is coming at me from all sides. I can barely eat without the feeling of metal being driven into my stomach. I do not know what is wrong.

But isn’t that always the case? We never know what’s wrong. We never know, when our eyes pop open at whatever goddamn hour of the night we will awaken, with hearts racing and fears of the day ahead. And that’s what I’ve been dealing with all week. What is the future? What the fuck am I doing with my life? Yes, I got through the Skype interview, but compared to everyone else who works there, why would they even consider me?

My self-confidence is in the toilet. The only time I feel like I matter, have something to say, is in these posts. Because the rest of my days are filled with supervisors, with people watching, with judgments made against me – positive or negative, in my own mind or not, I feel it.

I am a fraud, or at least I feel like one. I have no clue what I want to do in this life, other than write. I hate my job, hate that I have a place I have to be at for 8 hours a day. I hate when my partner chides me for not going to work. 1. He does not have a mental illness that causes paranoia, agoraphobia, anxiety. 2. He hasn’t worked in an office setting for over a decade. 3. He is a man – we all know the treatment is different.

But still I sit. Pounding away at this keyboard, hoping that this will change, somehow. I see him in two days. I am glad for the break from this place – the heat and humidity are killing me and the monsoon weather we’ve been having is unbearable. I had lightning strike my front yard the other night and take down a tree. Thankfully, it didn’t get my car.

I am far from the place where I once imagined I would be. I do not know what is holding me back. I do everything “required” of me in my job, I placate my partner when his life boils over, and yet somehow I do not feel this is always reciprocated. He is not the man my husband was, but my husband is long dead, and I have to move on. He is a good man, but not always the best. But aren’t we all that way?

I see my therapist today. I am leaving to go north for a few days. A small retreat – the only one I will get this summer. I will see my parents, and a part of me will die a small death seeing how my mother has deteriorated since I last saw her. And I want nothing to do with my father. So, I have said I will go for a few hours, before she gets loopy, and then be gone once again. Back down here, where I will be alone once again.

I think I need a therapy dog. It’s the one thing I can think of that would comfort me when the demons start knocking. And they are banging on the walls right now.

© Sorrow & Kindness

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