” I am here; and here is nowhere in particular.—William Golding
This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.
” I am here; and here is nowhere in particular.—William Golding
This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.
to me: March 16, 2019
Sooooo, in mid January I sat down at the computer just to write that I had nothing new to say. That I had not received any epiphany or sign about the direction in my life. I thought that I should quickly read over what I had written to remind myself of the babble that I wrote. Just kinda to keep the “flow” of the writing, if there’s any at all. Well, I re-read the past emails written to myself and was so fucking drained and exhausted by merely reading them, that I was unable to write that I had nothing to write about. But then something really odd struck me like a 2×4 over the head. I thought it had been a few months since I last wrote and that’s why I was just going to “check in” and say that I had nothing new to add. SHIT, I checked the dates again in total disbelief. It hadn’t been a few months; it had been over a year!!! So I totally lost track of time, of everything. Fourteen months later and I think it’s only been a couple of months. I sat and tried to think where the year had gone. God, it’s scary to think that I am so disconnected that I have literally lost track of time.
So now it’s about 16 months since my last email. I have some things to say. I will move back to the States this summer. I have no job, no home, no car and basically no furniture. I don’t even have a bed. I have some clothes stored away and hope they are not ruined by the years in storage or I will have very little clothing because I will move from a desert climate to a cold, snowy one. I have some kitchen things, basic things. That’s it. Not exaggerating for dramatic purposes. In one way, I feel let down, ashamed that I have nothing at my age and having worked my ass off since I was 19 years old. In another way, I feel free. Or at least I talk myself into that feeling. I will have to create a home from scratch, again…
I try to be positive. I try to look at things differently and gain new perspectives. Sometimes I actually feel excited and joyful at the prospect. Other times, I literally have a panic attack. I watch a video or two each morning before work trying to inspire myself and think about things in a different way. I try to gain new insight and learn from others. Sometimes I catch a sentence or two that strikes me, other times I am fast forwarding because it’s boring or seemingly inapplicable to me.
I will move to Buffalo, NY. I have never been there. I have never even had a desire since I heard that it’s extremely cold and winters are very long. My body doesn’t like the desert heat and scorching sun, but it certainly doesn’t yearn for shitty winters that seem to never end. My son is attending university there and he and I will get an apartment together. The support will be good for both of us. He needs it and so do I. But I feel as though I will have to move again from there as his life moves forward and I will have to start all over again. And that does not appeal to me even .000025%. I am 55 years old now. I keep thinking how I will live, support myself, etc. for the next 20-25 years. When people say, “Oh, you’ll probably live to be 100 years old,” I just want to smack the living shit outta them right on the spot. It’s like they are giving me a death sentence to continue this journey indefinitely. It’s fucking rude when they say that. I hate it.
I am researching things in my soon to be new home environment. I have to learn my own customs again and fit into society. It will take about 2 years to get back into things, at least that’s what I predict. I will have culture shock coming from being in the Middle East, the Gulf specifically, for the past 8 years. I am good at adjusting to my new environment. I learn quickly. I have moved my entire life since I was born as a military brat. It’s all I know really. But I need to set roots somewhere and that’s what I was trying to do, but now I am moving to another place that wasn’t originally on the map in my mind. I will try and make the most of it and see where this path goes. I may love it. I may not. I don’t know. I do know that I will give it my all and hope that good things happen.
I will gain living with my son and having time together that I thought was long gone. But I will lose a daughter to spend time with because she will remain here and continue her university studies. Always winning and losing at the same time. Compromise. It’s just the reality. I wish it were different. I want to be close to both of my kids. I don’t want to be far away and see them once or twice a year. We are close and I want to see them regularly. Some parents are ok with seeing their kids whenever, like mine. But I am the opposite. I love being around them. They bring me joy.
What the fuck am I going to do for work??? That’s the biggest and most frightening question. The only thing that I know for sure is that (and please do quote me on this one) “That I will never ever fucking teach in a school again!”
I will literally try to forget the past 28 years of my career. I really hate it for the most part. I cannot even talk about teaching and how fucked up the field is, mostly thanks to fucking politicians and business people talking about shit they know nothing about. I won’t even elaborate. It’s too unhealthy for me to think about.
I told my son that I need this new stage in my life to be an adventure. That’s the only way I will be able to deal with it. From sleeping on the floor to making do with whatever we have will be part of the new adventure. Come to think of it, I should name this adventure. Kinda like they name “conflicts” in the military and not really calling them wars even though they are. I will think about a name befitting of this adventure.
I am not going buy shit that I don’t really need and love and I don’t want to settle for the cheapest thing I can afford. I have done that my entire life and really don’t want to do it anymore. I will do without until I can get what will bring me happiness. I am not going to get some shitty sofa that I really don’t love just because it’s all that I can afford. I will just do without one. I don’t really care. Others may judge me, but then again, I don’t see them pulling out their wallets, so…
I do have some money saved so I am not completely broke. However, I was saving that money for my retirement which I really need for myself and to not be a burden to my kids. I will be frugal. I usually am. But really need to be careful because it’s easy to blow through money in the States. It’s just an expensive place to live.
This is where I am now. Half way between excited and hopeful and scared and full of anxiety. What a lovely pit stop in life.
” I am here; and here is nowhere in particular.
This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.
|to me: NOVEMBER 25, 2017|
So, I have made no headway since my last email. I haven’t made any progress in years. I just get up, go to work, do whatever I need to after work, sleep and repeat. It is a drain. A fucking drain. The only time I am really happy is when I have my family together which is now rare for the past 2.5 years or when I am dancing or with some awesome friends or new company or having some traveling adventure. But I don’t have awesome friends here so that cancels that opportunity. I only travel two times a year so my happiness has to wait. It is not that I don’t try to be happy, because I do. It’s just that I am not. I really don’t like 90% of the people here that I have social contact with or could have with. I hate the expat mentality. They fucking suck for the most part. I never minded working with women until I moved here. They are bitches for the most part. And I have worked almost exclusively with women since I was 18. I always enjoyed working with them and never understood others when they complained about women. Honestly, I never had those experiences. But then I moved here. The expat women suck as well as the men. There are always exceptions, but for the most part, they are injured people. Always on the fucking run, never showing who they are. I had one “friend” comment that she was surprised, truly surprised at my loyalty towards others. I was actually shocked by her comment. I have always been loyal. Until you fuck me, I got your back 100%. I would definitely want a friend like myself and thankfully I have some. But her comment stuck with me… most people just half ass friendship and use people for their convenience. What a fucking shame. They never get the real perks of friendship, true friendship. But that’s the mentality here. Use people to avoid your own loneliness, your boredom, your whatever. I have no sympathy. I don’t have time. You are grown; fix your shit.
Most of my problem stems around money. Most people can relate. I have to provide and I refuse to live poorer than I am. The stress is overwhelming. It never goes away… not even for a minute. Ok, sometimes it temporarily goes away for a few minutes or hours or even a few days when I am lucky. This past summer I went to Spain to “think” about things, my life, the problems, etc. I planned to walk the streets of whatever city I was in and just think. Well, I didn’t do any thinking whatsoever. Not a fucking minute. It was great! But I came home with the same problems to deal with. I had a phenomenal time. I met new and exciting and fun, adventurous people. I traveled with two young guys ages 18 and 22 for a week. It was honestly the most fun I have had in decades. I laughed for one week straight with them, all day and all night. It was more than magical. It was perfect. Then I returned to the hot ass desert, I mean hot. And just fell back into my daily depression. I don’t know, maybe I am writing out of depression. Maybe it caused by my lack of direction and being completely fucking alone. I don’t know. Remember, I don’t know any fucking thing.
So what if ADHD does direct my life? Does that mean I can’t be happy? I don’t really care if I have it or not. It is all I know. But lately, I have so much pent up energy, that I wonder if it is harmful? I am literally dying of fucking boredom. I don’t want to have coffee with anyone other than a real, true friend and I don’t have any here. I would rather stare at the fucking wall then have my energy drained by just anyone. I went out for a drink the other night with a guy. I was so fucking bored. I just wanted to go home. My ADHD definitely makes small talk difficult. And I hate feeling trapped. Trapped to me means sitting with someone, without proper diversions, and having to stay engaged in conversation. It is actually a form of torture for me. I either click instantly with people and feel energized or the complete opposite. I can’t stand the latter. It makes me feel like I am slowly and painfully dying. I am not being dramatic. It is my reality. It is getting worse all the time. I am so bored and angry… bad combination. I am just utterly bored with life, people, everything. But then I have a glimmer of hope when I remember my two little buddies and Spain. I am old enough to be their mother, but we all communicated like equal human beings. There was no rank or file. It was just a harmonious union of three souls. I thank God for that experience, the most unexpected experience. Everywhere we went, people stared in wonderment. How do they know each other? What is their connection? We were instantly aware of this and their curiosity only fueled our strange, unique, beautiful bond. When someone asked how we knew each other, the one guy said, “through love and life.” Isn’t that beautiful? And it is true. Three open minds met each other though all three of us had originally begun our travels alone. But the universe had something up her sleeve and we were the lucky recipients.
I get up early on the weekends and just search for new jobs. God, I hate the thought of starting all over again and making probably a less than lateral move. I find nothing. I spend hours researching, chasing links, etc. I want to get out of here because I have done what I needed to, but I have no direction. Just surviving is what I do. Maybe it is what most people do. I don’t know. No one ever says anything.
Social media is fucking me up. I thank God that it was not around when I was younger. If it is affecting me now at 53, just imagine what the damage would be if I started earlier. I like Facebook because it allows me to stay in contact with those that live far away. But I am sick of seeing everyone’s highlights. Maybe I do the same, well, I guess I do. Can’t show all of your deep fucked up thoughts on Facebook now, can we? Fuck these smart phones and their fucking filters. I have no idea how anyone looks. America has gotten out of control with the brainwashing. I can’t even touch that topic. We are all victims. I cant’ help but compare my life, my looks, my everything with all that I see whether it be Facebook, Instagram or whatever. Fuck! Is this what we have been reduced to?
So where am I to go? What is my direction? Will there be a day, a moment when I get an epiphany? The days just roll into the next without any highlights, unless stress is a highlight. They go from bad to worse. I just don’t have good days. I can’t remember when I did. Other than Spain but I already mentioned that. The weekends are hell for me. I don’t have anything to do, no one to do it with and usually just do things around the house, so that constitutes fucking work. For the first few years, there were new experiences. But those are not as available anymore. Things are different here. Things are not the same as before. Things used to be fun. There were things to do. But six years has changed the lifestyle and mentality. Economics are getting worse and everyone is feeling it. Well, most are. I hate living near Dubai. It is like living near Hollywood. Close enough to feel like you are missing out. But the reality is, I don’t have the money to partake anymore than I would in Hollywood. I hate advertising and media. They make you feel inferior and that your life is just so boring. It’s a masterful mind trap to fuck you up. I am trying so hard not to buy into it. I keep telling myself that that is not my life, that is not my reality, etc. But somehow, I still feel like I am missing out. I am actually jealous of people for the first real time in my life. I want what they have and don’t even know why they deserve to have it and not me. I wonder why I keep myself in decent shape and the whole botox shit when people I know who do not keep themselves fit end up better off than I. Obviously, I have shit fucked up. That’s all I can say. I am missing something. I am not connecting the dots properly. And I think being older makes everything worse. You know you are in your best days compared to what the future will bring. It’s not like you are 30 knowing you have a life time. I have 28.1 years if I live to my life expectancy based on the insurance scammers. They should know. How many years should I subtract for smoking and drinking? How many should I add for a pretty healthy diet and working out? Ha ha ha.
This ramble bores me. I am bored by my own writing. It is just fucking babble. That’s all my mind has to offer… babble. Just like a crazy fuck on the street… just babbling. But sometimes I am jealous that they don’t seem depressed… just crazy. I remember a homeless man in NYC when I was younger. He asked me if I had a screwdriver. “A what?” I said. “A screwdriver” he replied. “Why?” I asked. Then he said, “All I need is a screwdriver to get to Chicago.” Fuck, I had no idea what he was talking about. He was in his own world. Like I am. I don’t know if he was happy or depressed or knew the difference. I do know the difference and it is not pretty. I wish all I needed was a screwdriver to get somewhere. Maybe he had to repair his time machine. I will never know…
|to me: NOVEMBER 18, 2017|
This is what stresses me out the most: that I have to work and earn money in order to support myself and soon to be two kids in college. I am stuck in teaching and have been for my entire career. But I never had anyone to fall back on since I graduated college. It is overfuckingwhelming. It is always stressful. No family support, no “we got your back until you figure things out” place, no safety net of any kind. That has kept me in a state of survival for decades, damn, a lifetime. Especially as a woman, it is extra stressful and scary. I feel like a caged animal fighting for its survival. I hate education. It is such bullshit since I entered about 27 years ago. At least it is in the school environments in which I have worked and continue to work. I can’t even go into the problems with the education system. But those problems are probably why I hate teaching. And the fact that most students I teach don’t come properly prepared to learn. Forget it. It is just fucked up and I am in the middle of it. I cannot find a way out of teaching. It is a trap. No one wants to hire a former teacher because they don’t think they have any skills other than teaching. But our skill set is so vast and wide that I can’t even begin to list them all. So I am stereotyped and feel like a prisoner.
I need to move away from where I am. That’s stressful. I am middle aged with two children to support. What kind of chances do you think are wise when your two kids depend on your support? Who wants to start over with very little and for even less pay for some dream or even different job?
This crossroad is looking bleaker all the time. I know my mindset is making it worse. But I just don’t know what to do, to think or how to change it. I am so depressed especially on the weekends that I literally spontaneously cry. I fight back most of the tears because it seems that there is always someone around. Looks pretty stupid when you are in the gym and your eyes well up with tears. I hate living here because of the isolation. And teaching is an isolating career. All day in a room with kids. Not healthy when you think about it. And socially, living here, though there have been many great opportunities and good times; things have changed. Seems like it was easier to meet some people when I first moved here. The social climate has changed; things always change. Social apps for meeting people are what a lot of us rely on, but I hate meeting people that way. So many fucking liars, selfish fuckers, introverted people, etc. that you have to deal with. Using social media does not allow me to use my 6th sense, my gut feeling, my intuition. That’s a major problem. A woman needs to use her intuition to guide her. And I live 1.5 hours away from major places where some interaction would be easier though still limiting due to the social climate.
Being alone for thirteen years is enough. However, I would prefer to be alone than in a shitty marriage like I think many are in but will not leave. So that’s a rock and hard place. I wonder if I will ever marry again? I wonder if I will have better luck in another marriage or relationship? I have pretty much always had bad relationships. I think I am missing something that most women have but I don’t know what it is. I learned nothing from my childhood about how to find a suitable mate. I had a good example in my parents, but no guidance along the way. So I have been trying to figure it out without success. Men don’t want independent, strong personality women. It is a fucking lie. They will respect women like that, but they have no desire to be in a relationship with one unless they need something. I need a man who is stronger than I am but that’s like finding a needle in a haystack. I am not a bitch. I am kind, thoughtful, go out of my way kind of woman. Those qualities get taken advantage of. Most men are not that strong. I don’t know what happened in our society. They are ok and comfortable with women bringing home the fucking bacon and cooking it and then washing the pan. I am not speaking of all men. I know some awesome ones. But it does seem that a lot of men are just way too comfortable being lazy asses. And women, including myself are stupid enough to keep them comfortable. So I have no high hopes of marriage in the future though I would like to. Anyway, most middle- aged men have zero appeal to me. Maybe they say the same about middle- aged women. Why does it seem that so many stop taking care of themselves? It is just unattractive and sends out the message, I don’t care. Sadly, only cubs are available here and they have literally ruined my chances of finding someone in my age group attractive. Younger men are just so… so damn good looking! They are in their prime. They take time to keep fit and keep themselves groomed. And most middle -aged people seem like they have little to no energy. I think many are just worn out and depressed. Something in life has just drained them. Our society is fucked up and we value the wrong things. I find more happiness in Spain. I love it there. People of all ages are out and about.
I have gotten interrupted so many times writing this that I cannot remember anything that I wanted to address. I think I have to keep addressing the things that pop into my mind until I have either exhausted my brain or some clarity surfaces.
|to me: NOVEMBER 13, 2017|
So, I messaged three friends and asked them if they would be interested in what I am writing. Two have said yes and I am still waiting on the third. Maybe I will enjoy this more if I think someone is reading, maybe I won’t. Actually, I just don’t know anything anymore.
There are so many things running through my head that I think I need some type of order. I can’t find my path if I keep having my thoughts interrupted and going in a million directions. Some thoughts may have nothing to do with anything, maybe they are just complaints about life, people, whatever. But they are reoccurring which means they are affecting me, and mostly in negative ways.
After my first (last) email I decided to search Youtube for some videos regarding my crossroad situation. I tried to watch a few (in their entirety) but was so fucking bored that I only managed to skim through them. Then I stumbled across: Stop Searching for Your Passion presented by Terri Trespicio. It was on TedEx. They have some great videos, but some have had me wishing I never watched. At 4:10 (time into the video) she said exactly what my father said after I graduated college, was in between jobs and suffering with complete and utter depression. She basically said, take a job and have a reason to get up and go somewhere. You can watch it for yourself and I am not really good at being exact in my quotes, especially with my shitty memory. But the message resonated with me and it is actually excellent advice. Keep moving or as my dad always said, “hustle while you wait.” Well, I have been moving since 18 and I am still lost. She also says, stop searching for your passion. I liked those words because the journey to find my passion has led me absolutely nowhere in over 30 years. What really hit a chord with me was when she said, “look for problems that need solving” and passion is, ” where your energy and effort meet someone else’s need.” So this gave me something to think about which I am forever grateful because the broken record in my head is seriously driving me insane.
I was driving back from getting botox, yep, botox. Should I address the botox issue or what I thought about first? Alright, the botox. I get botox because I think aging is ugly. Just plain ugly. Menopause slammed me. It fucked up what was already damaged. My full face got thin as did my thick hair. Sweating is bullshit. Sweating for hours and days and fucking years is just torture. My brain was completely fucked up and is only now beginning to think a little clearer. Everything a woman goes through is just difficult. But I am not writing about the “change” as they call it, which is by the way, a stupid fucking term to describe going through puberty all over again and with a viciousness one could have never imagined. If you happen to read this and think that it wasn’t that bad, the “change” or you had an easy “labor” then just keep quiet please. In the name of sisterhood, just shut your mouth for those of us who have suffered in both arenas. Botox. Back to botox. I think most of my new found “vanity” has sprung from being single, but I have no other side to compare with. I am not married; I do not have a spouse growing old with me. I just look in the mirror and literally say, “what the fuck happened? Where is she? Where is the person I knew and recognized?” Fuck! As I am writing, I just forgot what my other thought was. I got all wrapped up in botox. Damn. Another diversion. So aging is also fucking me up. I see younger, pretty women with shiny, young hair. They have nice features. They have… what I used to have. Of course I never realized I had those things… until I looked back at photos and said, ” my gosh, you looked pretty good back then.” Those days are over. So I try to balance this thought with, “I bet the 75 year old woman wished she looked like 53 years and 10 months again.” So I try to be grateful, but there is obviously still a twinge that shakes me to the core. I don’t want to look old. Sometimes I think I am close to death and that my life is almost over. Let’s say the average life expectancy is, (hold on and I will google it actually)…
Ok, the average life expectancy of an American woman is: 81.2 years. For an American man, it is 76.4. I always said women live about 5 years longer to get a fucking break. Let’s say I have about 28.1 years left. Of course my parents and others will point out that I smoke and drink so I should subtract some years. To which I think and sometimes reply, “but I eat healthy and work out 3 times a week.” My dad’s dream has always been to live to be 100. That is most definitely NOT my dream. Shit, 28.1 more years seems too long as far as I am concerned, especially if I continue to remain stuck in this fucking crossroad in my life. I have told my kids that about 79-80 is perfect for me. So, as it turns out, that’s about the time I am supposed to die. I don’t need surgery for anything in my even older years. At this point I am alone and have been for so long, remember? Thirteen years since my divorce. I have done literally everything fucking alone. I am not interested in being my own nurse to my invalid self nor am I interested in going into some old people, drooling home. God, just shoot me please. Botox to shoot me. How did that happen? Maybe this is why I have no clarity about anything. I have completely forgotten the thought I had while driving home from my botox appointment. By the way, I like the botox.
I remembered. I was thinking about what I wrote in my first “email to self.” It was that we need maps in life and not just destinations. Then I was thinking about maps. Maps are awesome. They take you from point A to point B in the most efficient way. God only knows how anyone got anywhere before google maps. I kept thinking about maps. They didn’t happen perfectly. Someone, actually, many people took a million wrong turns before they found the most direct path between two places. All we see in the end if the perfect path between two points. It’s kinda like those stupid ass summaries of how someone got from their state of confusion to their state of clarity. I wish someone would record all of their wrong turns before they arrived at their intended destination. In my case, I don’t know the destination, only an idea of what it might me. So I am creating a map to go somewhere, but I don’t know where the hell I am going. It is already the recipe for disaster. Or maybe, with a million wrong attempts in the wrong direction, a clear, direct map will be produced. Who fucking knows? I don’t.
|to me: NOVEMBER 11, 2017|
I am at a fucking crossroad. I am literally, “on the brink.” Of what? I cannot say for sure. That’s the worst part, I think. I know that I am there, that nowhere, distinct place. It is ethereal. Well, that’s the word that popped into my head, but when I googled its meaning, I realized it is not quite that. Apparently, ethereal is:
extremely delicate and light in a way that seems not to be of this world. As in, “her ethereal beauty.” Synonyms are:
delicate, exquisite, dainty, elegant, graceful, beautiful, lovely.
That’s not the word that I need right now. I always wanted, kinda as a distant dream, to be a writer. But as you can read from my word choice, ethereal, I am not one. My vocabulary sucks. I became quite good at analyzing literature, especially in graduate school, but that is pretty much my only really, strong English skill. Right now, I could use an awesome vocabulary in which to express my thoughts. My random, drive me insane, ever repeating… thoughts. They swirl in my head like a wicked tornado and seemingly keep destroying any normal, positive thoughts that remain in the path of destruction. I hate long sentences. I hate wordiness. I hate big, fucking words that only a small percentage of people seem to know. I am not impressed. I just don’t think they clearly express shit. Wow, my wordiness impresses me. LOL
As I am just beginning to put some of my thoughts down I am completely triggered by the fact that I am forced to look at the right side of my computer screen because I am in fact, writing myself an email. When I enlarge the screen then the words endlessly flow across 18 or so inches and my eyes get confused trying to read for a mile in the right direction. So I feel that I am not centered and maybe my brain will also react to this direction and somehow block what the left needs to do. I don’t know. It just feels out of balance. How perfect! So is my life.
I don’t want to write myself an email. I wish that I had someone to write to. But I am not sure who would want to read this babble and honestly I have no idea of the eventual length. It could go on forever or until I am no longer at this fucking crossroad. No one wants to invite confusion into their life. I feel absolutely no need to write to myself or to “journal.” I hate that word as much as “yoga and meditation.” Yes, I am intense. I don’t even want to hear that you shouldn’t “hate anything.” I also “love” as intensely. So that’s my balance on that issue.
I am 53 years old. In two months, I will be 54. Fucking yipee, right? So I have been googling (what was the word before google arrived on the scene?) things like: midlife crisis, middle aged women, things to do with your life after 50, starting all over, changing careers, etc. And I am not thrilled with anything that I have read. No one is blatantly honest. They write as if all of their epiphanies, realizations and wisdom have somehow seamlessly and effortlessly just beautifully collided with the universe blessing them with precise timing. Fuck. Did they get that lucky? I don’t want just a summary of how shit worked out for them. I need to know the process. Can’t find much about that or maybe I am not researching (googling) properly. I don’t want to hear how happy they are that they “found” their way and shit. I can’t identify because as I have said before, “I am at a fucking crossroad.” I need some kind of guidance; a map, a direction in which to think about, ponder and perhaps try myself. I wish my grannies were alive to talk to. They would have some advice for me I’m sure.
I am working out of the country as an English teacher. It has been amazing in the fact that I have been able to learn a new culture and see many new places in the world. My eyes and mind have become wider. I have been able to provide for my two children and myself for which I am forever grateful. But this place is completely socially isolating. In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. But when my son moved back to the USA at only 16 because he hated it here, then my world started to crumble. In less than one year, my daughter will attend college and I will be alone. That stark, harsh reality has already begun to hit me like a ton of fucking bricks. I have already been alone in the sense that I have been a single mother going on for 13 years now. There are no words to describe the difficulty and overwhelming task of raising kids on your own and on a teacher’s paycheck. I know it could be worse, but I am not going in that direction. I am talking about my life. I am acutely aware of how fortunate I am in so many areas of my life. I am truly a grateful person. I thank God all the time for the smallest of things. But again, I am not writing for that which I am ungrateful or just complaining, I am writing because of this “crossroads” issue. Yeah, it is a big fucking issue that has overtaken my life, my sleep, my happiness, my direction, my clarity, my everything. I literally feel like a slave to this unknown route and whether or not it turns out alright. The anxiety is deadly. It is just fucking deadly. I try not to take Xanax, but sometimes, when my heart is just pounding like a fucking rabbit and I can’t sleep because thoughts are so rapid and intense; I just have to get up, take a little pill and calm the fuck down. It works well. Really well. But that also bothers me because I can’t find a more positive, healthy way to calm down sometimes and have to rely on the pill to physically and mentally chill me out. I think I need more faith in God. And I am working on that. Some days and nights are better than others. But until I get there, I am still enslaved to the anxious thoughts and the little peach pill. This is when I will literally punch anyone who mentions fucking yoga or fucking meditation.
I am ADHD. 100%. So yoga and mediation aren’t appealing. Yes, I have tried. Fuck, what happy place am I supposed to imagine? I work out, eat healthy, smoke cigarettes and drink red wine. My mind has always raced and sometimes it is a good thing. I can be very creative because it is as if my brain synapses are wired in a completely different way than most. I have literally no retrieval ability. I can’t remember shit. And the more stress I have then the more I can’t remember shit. Do you know how many times I have had to google how to spell a word since I just started writing this email? I can’t spell that fantastically either, but at least I do know how to google and even use a dictionary. Ha Ha Ha. I just spelled dictionary incorrectly, but autocorrect was kind enough to recognize and change it for me. Sometimes I think that this kind of thinking, random ass ADD shit is also what makes me crazy. Then add to that the fact that I really don’t have anyone to talk to whom I trust and feel that they can relate, puts me back into my own crazy mind. My husband once said, “God, I would never want to spend a day in your mind.” He was just being honest. I have to agree.
So sometimes I get this almost happy, ethereal feeling that I am on the brink… the brink of something that is going to be amazingly wonderful or…
Or I see the other, shadowy, gray side of the brink which is dismal. That’s the crossroads that I am standing near presently. I keep waiting and praying for an epiphany. But it doesn’t come. When I do get some ideas, then they are unclear.
I have always heard, since Sunday school when I was about 7-8 or so that “God made everyone with a special purpose.” And you have to find that special purpose. That has weighed me down an entire lifetime. It is not uplifting or inspiring. It is a fucking, dead weight. It is a dark shroud that buries me on every level of my existence. I am also supposed to “find my passion” in life. Fuck, I don’t know what that is either. So when do you think I will know? I am almost 54. Shit, I will be dead sooner than later. So when am I going to know what the fuck they are?” It literally drives me 100% insane. I think America has also fucked me up with the commercials, the rhetoric, the over the top every-fucking-thing. I wasn’t sure how to write that special word so I just inserted hyphens. Autocorrect doesn’t know what to do. If I knew my “special purpose” or my “passion” then I would most likely have no need to write this stupid email to myself. I am not even going to read it. I just wanted to save it so I thought this would be a way in which to accomplish that little task.
So the lighter side of the brink which I am standing on is pleasant. It gives me hope that the future is yet to be known and that everything is going to be alright. Even better than alright. Like maybe amazing in ways that I could have never envisioned for myself.
But the other side is depressing and gives me anxiety. What if I am just fooling myself when I get a glimpse of the lighter side? I can’t see either one clearly. They weigh the same. They are equal. I wonder which way I will eventually go?
I wonder how many emails I will have to keep writing to email@example.com before I have answers. I wonder if I will ever be able to stop writing because the “light” beamed before me and led me to the right path. I wonder if I do find the right, light path if I will write some stupid, happy little summary of how it all just mysteriously worked out…
That’s why I am writing this process. It is obvious, and was probably quite obvious in the first few sentences of the email that I have no direction. I am completely lost. If I do find the bright, ethereal path then maybe my process will help someone else. Other than my reward of being happy for finding my way in life, it would give me great pleasure to know that maybe my words and journey helped another. We need maps not destinations in life.
I am tired now. You can see how my mind works and it is exhausting to me as well. I live in a stream of conscious world. My mind works like this all the time. I just think and say and feel whatever I am at the time. I don’t have a lot of filters. Who cares? Fuck filters. Filters distort everything.
Sometimes I feel like 3 people wrapped inside one body and mind.
I am a 55 year old woman searching to find a direction, a career in life that is meaningful and makes me want to get out of bed in the morning.
I taught high school for 28 years and will never do that again. That’s all I know with total certainty. I am at another crossroad in life. This one is the most painful because I don’t have “my life ahead of me.” At my age, most of my life has been “lived,” but I am still trying to find something fulfilling in my last decades. I don’t mean purpose necessarily. I taught with great passion and purpose. I simply cannot do that anymore. I need something that really excites me and doesn’t drain me to where I feel dead most of the time. And I have no fucking idea in which direction to go. I don’t even know how to work this blog thing. I can’t even change the picture on my page. I don’t know anything. This is going to be challenging just to learn the particulars about blogging let alone my actual journey to something meaningful. OMG~ this is already painful and confusing and I haven’t really started yet. #mydilemma
Why do this?