No, I’m Not Okay

Let’s start by stating the obvious. I’ve been gone for a long time. Before that, my posts were inconsistent at best. They will probably continue to be that way for the foreseeable future. I know, I should do better, and promise I’ll be here every week, but that would be a lie.

The truth is—for many reasons— I’m struggling.

I try to write from a place of hopefulness. Even if that hope is wishful thinking, it’s still there. Sometimes it’s a stretch, and I have to look for it. Other times, I stumble across it accidentally, and we’re both pleasantly surprised. No matter how hard it is, when I sit in front of my computer, I want to walk away feeling more positive.

Despite my natural inclinations, I usually find the light in the proverbial darkness. Even if it’s simply believing that I’ll eventually find the light switch. Yep, that’s something. There’s always something good if I look hard enough.

I just sighed very dramatically.

Life has really put that philosophy to the test this year. It was getting harder to find that positive spin, and now it’s damn near impossible. I’ve flipped the switch on and off a hundred times, but the power must be out or the bulb is broken. There’s been very little light, and recently, there’s been none at all.

How can I tell you everything will be alright when I don’t believe it? It wouldn’t be a lie, not exactly, but it wouldn’t be an honest reflection of how I view life. The world, through my eyes, is a lot darker these days. These words are…Hard, jagged, biting, slicing, tired and weak.

Hope? It’s a faint memory. Faith? It’s too heavy, and I’m too tired. Goodness? I don’t remember what that is. Nothing good has happened in many, many moons.

See what I mean? How grim is that?

In the last few months, my life has collapsed around me. Imploded, disintegrated, buried in the rubble. Well, that’s how it feels, and my overly dramatic tendencies might be playing up. Still, when I look at my life, I don’t recognize any of it. It’s upside down and inside out. It hurts in every conceivable way.

Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. Light? Hope? Darkness. Stillness. Emptiness. Another sigh, this time tired— no, exhausted— and weary.

A lot has happened over the last few months, but I don’t know if I can say the words. Whoever said words can’t hurt never stopped to listen. Whether they are said to you or you say them in the privacy of your own mind? Words are powerful weapons that can cause grievous injury.

That’s why I don’t want to say these words and relieve the last few months. They’ve been painful in ways I can’t express. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to relive them. I want to pull the fluffiest blanket over my head and shut out the world indefinitely.

I’m not saying I’m psychic or believe in a sixth sense. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist, either. I don’t know if it’s intuition or something more mystical, but before the clock hit midnight on New Year’s Eve, I felt an overwhelming dread.

Midnight came, the fireworks went off, people cheered, but I had a single thought play on repeat: This year is gonna suck. I knew it was true in the same way I know the sky is blue, it’s going to rain 325 days of the year, and pineapple belongs on pizza.

I tried to ignore it. I thought I was catastrophizing. I figured it was my brain playing tricks on me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. Trepidation. Fear. An overwhelming desire to run and hide.

But life is inescapable. What will be will be. Run and hide? Ha! No, my friend, the only way to get through it is to go through it. Damn it, I hate it too, but it is what it is. Sigh. 

Ever since this year began, I’ve been facing one health crisis after another. Just when I start recovering from one, another pops off. I can’t get my feet under me long enough to stand up, so how can I keep moving? I feel trapped inside my body. I want to escape, start over, but I can’t, and I’m…I’m not okay.

I’ve lived with multiple chronic illnesses since I was three years old. I should be used to it by now. Do you ever get used to it? Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Or I’m tired of feeling sick, tired of being in pain. I’m just tired.

I was in hospital recently with sepsis (an infection in the blood) that attacked my foot and ankle. The pain was so severe I was shaking and vomiting. I had to call an ambulance because I couldn’t walk. I was in the hospital for ten day and went through six weeks of gnarly treatment.

That was it. It was the last of it. It did me in. My resilience is depleted. I have nothing left. I don’t know what to do with myself, my life, anymore. 

I’m…sigh…tired. I keep saying that, and I should do something about that sigh.

To top off an already disastrous year, my dog died. He became sick out of nowhere, and there was nothing his vets could do. Despite their best efforts and my desperate grasp for hope, saying goodbye was the last act of love I could give him. 

My sweet pup! They are never just dogs, are they.

He was the last good thing I had going for me in this year of suck. He was the one thing that got me out of bed every morning. No matter how bad I felt, he needed me to show up, and it gave me something to hold onto. The way he looked at me. The way he loved me. Now?

I’m tired. I’m done. If there’s some cosmic or divine plan in this no good very bad year? It would be great if it made itself known because I’m at a loss. 

Maybe it begs the question: Does everything happen for a reason? 

I appreciate the idea behind the sentiment, but it makes my fist clench and my stomach wretch. I don’t know if there’s a reason for everything that happens or if bad things just happen. Is there a purpose to it, or does life throw shit for giggles? 

A question humanity has been asking since the dawn of our existence. Has it ever been answered with any degree of satisfaction, or are we stuck with the empty platitudes? They give some people peace and infuriate others. It depends on where you are in your journey of suck, I suppose. If you’ve walked through the darkness and into the light, then you might find a purpose for what you’ve been through.

On the other hand, if you’re in the midst of the worst year you’ve ever had or one of the worst? Does it give you an ounce of hope, or are you more like me? Has that well run dry?

So here I sit, in front of my computer, trying to put words on a page. It’s taken me two weeks to get this far. When I try to write I’m filled with dread and hopelessness. There’s that old familiar voice in the back of my mind saying, “What’s the point?” Why even try? Just curl up and zone out.

There’s another part that’s still holding on with white knuckles for some unknown reason. It’s trying to make plans for the future and whispering, “Wouldn’t it be fun?” It’s not a strong voice, and it lacks conviction. It’s easy to ignore. I’ve spent more days than I can count buried under that blanket doing the exact opposite.

It has to get better at some point, right? Something good has to happen; it just has to. It can’t be like this forever. The suck can’t last. It just can’t. 

I’m really resisting the urge to writing the “H” word because it feels more like an expletive. The thought of saying it makes me wanna slap myself. Sure, it would be a good ending. End on a hopeful note. That’s what the people want, isn’t it? No, I don’t feel it, but I have wishful thinking.

Perhaps that’s how it starts? A hint of wistfulness Or, I have to be okay with not being okay for awhile.