if you look up the word "gullible" in the dictionary, you'll find my picture next to it.
Gullible| Define Gullible at Dictionary.com
can i get a count on how many people actually clicked on the link? be honest, now. raise your hand. admit it.
*i know. i can be a snarky smart-ass.
but really, i'm the one who's gullible, & in a very painful way, too. distinguishing between truths & lies is a real bitch, & it is a most harsh aspect of a mood swing. about an hour or so ago, a first domino was tipped. very small, very minor, but enough to make the next waver for a little before it, too, fell. & you know the metaphor. it wasn't long before i was sitting on the floor, curled up in the corner, crying my eyes out. somehow, i'd gone from simple annoyance at a bad internet connection to full-on depressive blow-out over who-knows-what.
well, that's a lie. i did actually know what. usually, these dark valleys are filled with anger, & this time was no different. a million thoughts were racing through my mind. what the hell am i doing here? why haven't i gotten my own place by now? why haven't i found a job? why did i leave the job i had, even if it was sucking my soul dry? why, for fuck's sake, at the age of 33, couldn't i as a grown-ass woman stand on my two feet? there's more.
the past two years have been a steady decline. less & less able to handle the job i did have, less & less able to manage my own health. i basically have no money to speak of, so taking care of all of my expenses, now & in the future, is incredibly daunting. the dream for which i left all behind? every time i undertake a major project, i have a massive episode. i may have cashed in security for a pursuit that might very well make me insane. literally.
that last part is no joke. though i refuse to use bipolar disorder as a crutch or excuse, it does create some cognitive dissonance, & whereas some people can work their way out of a jam by running through a mental checklist, i cannot. my art & writing live because of my passions, but in their creation, they let open the floodgates, &, sometimes, i'm unable to control the wildness being released. those sometimes are becoming more frequent, & that's terrifying.
& the word that swirls at the center of this maelstrom? failure. failure as a independent individual, failure as an artist & writer, failure as a daughter, sister, friend, partner, & lover. from this pours forth the rage. i want to tear my hair from my scalp & bang my head into the wall until both are bloody, all for my past, present, & future failures.
thank God for refusing to let me fall to the bottom of that hole, never to get up again. on the way down, i'm caught, & i stop screaming. i can take a breath. & for once, i can open my eyes. a second word starts to make itself heard, nigh inaudible at first, but earnest & growing in strength. lie. those thoughts that had turned into a tornado of razor blades? each one, when cast in the shadow of "failure," is a blatant falsehood meant to tear my mind to shreds. my mindscape suddenly changes when those same destructive thoughts are cast in the light of "truth" & "possibility."
the truth? i left a job that blessed me & served for the right time but was not meant as my lifelong calling. i was having difficulty handling it because i loved the kids & my coworkers so, & i didn't know how to say goodbye. i struggled with my health because of my struggle with work, not because of any self-neglect. my funds are low because i saved for this kind of situation, & i've used those savings to make the changes i needed to make. & i have major episodes related to my creative work because i am what i express; consequently, trying to divorce it from my emotional identity is, by definition, going to be excruciatingly painful & sometimes impossible. i simply have to take each upheaval as it comes, recognizing that i've lived through every one before it & that i can do it again.
the possibilities? i leave for Brooklyn in eight days. i have a six week sublet, & during that time i hope to land work [that's a little more substantial than my freelancing], a more permanent leasing situation, & some contacts for the artistic future i want to make for myself. art & writing are something for which i don't need a [9-5] boss, so, God-willing, i can continue to do that until the day i drop dead at my desk. & i am standing on my own two feet, simply because i'm not willing to quit just yet. i'm too stubborn for that.
& most of all? i screw up a lot. i could be a better daughter, sister, friend, partner, & lover, & my art & writing skills leave much to be desired. but, i am no failure. rather, i am an unfiltered look at what it means to be human; flawed & beautiful, weak & strong, fallen & still upright. this motley existence is my life, & that is how it is supposed to be.
i just have to remember not to be so gullible.
Gullible| Define Gullible at Dictionary.com
can i get a count on how many people actually clicked on the link? be honest, now. raise your hand. admit it.
*i know. i can be a snarky smart-ass.
but really, i'm the one who's gullible, & in a very painful way, too. distinguishing between truths & lies is a real bitch, & it is a most harsh aspect of a mood swing. about an hour or so ago, a first domino was tipped. very small, very minor, but enough to make the next waver for a little before it, too, fell. & you know the metaphor. it wasn't long before i was sitting on the floor, curled up in the corner, crying my eyes out. somehow, i'd gone from simple annoyance at a bad internet connection to full-on depressive blow-out over who-knows-what.
well, that's a lie. i did actually know what. usually, these dark valleys are filled with anger, & this time was no different. a million thoughts were racing through my mind. what the hell am i doing here? why haven't i gotten my own place by now? why haven't i found a job? why did i leave the job i had, even if it was sucking my soul dry? why, for fuck's sake, at the age of 33, couldn't i as a grown-ass woman stand on my two feet? there's more.
the past two years have been a steady decline. less & less able to handle the job i did have, less & less able to manage my own health. i basically have no money to speak of, so taking care of all of my expenses, now & in the future, is incredibly daunting. the dream for which i left all behind? every time i undertake a major project, i have a massive episode. i may have cashed in security for a pursuit that might very well make me insane. literally.
that last part is no joke. though i refuse to use bipolar disorder as a crutch or excuse, it does create some cognitive dissonance, & whereas some people can work their way out of a jam by running through a mental checklist, i cannot. my art & writing live because of my passions, but in their creation, they let open the floodgates, &, sometimes, i'm unable to control the wildness being released. those sometimes are becoming more frequent, & that's terrifying.
& the word that swirls at the center of this maelstrom? failure. failure as a independent individual, failure as an artist & writer, failure as a daughter, sister, friend, partner, & lover. from this pours forth the rage. i want to tear my hair from my scalp & bang my head into the wall until both are bloody, all for my past, present, & future failures.
thank God for refusing to let me fall to the bottom of that hole, never to get up again. on the way down, i'm caught, & i stop screaming. i can take a breath. & for once, i can open my eyes. a second word starts to make itself heard, nigh inaudible at first, but earnest & growing in strength. lie. those thoughts that had turned into a tornado of razor blades? each one, when cast in the shadow of "failure," is a blatant falsehood meant to tear my mind to shreds. my mindscape suddenly changes when those same destructive thoughts are cast in the light of "truth" & "possibility."
the truth? i left a job that blessed me & served for the right time but was not meant as my lifelong calling. i was having difficulty handling it because i loved the kids & my coworkers so, & i didn't know how to say goodbye. i struggled with my health because of my struggle with work, not because of any self-neglect. my funds are low because i saved for this kind of situation, & i've used those savings to make the changes i needed to make. & i have major episodes related to my creative work because i am what i express; consequently, trying to divorce it from my emotional identity is, by definition, going to be excruciatingly painful & sometimes impossible. i simply have to take each upheaval as it comes, recognizing that i've lived through every one before it & that i can do it again.
the possibilities? i leave for Brooklyn in eight days. i have a six week sublet, & during that time i hope to land work [that's a little more substantial than my freelancing], a more permanent leasing situation, & some contacts for the artistic future i want to make for myself. art & writing are something for which i don't need a [9-5] boss, so, God-willing, i can continue to do that until the day i drop dead at my desk. & i am standing on my own two feet, simply because i'm not willing to quit just yet. i'm too stubborn for that.
& most of all? i screw up a lot. i could be a better daughter, sister, friend, partner, & lover, & my art & writing skills leave much to be desired. but, i am no failure. rather, i am an unfiltered look at what it means to be human; flawed & beautiful, weak & strong, fallen & still upright. this motley existence is my life, & that is how it is supposed to be.
i just have to remember not to be so gullible.
No comments:
Post a Comment