"When sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions!" is the Shakespearean expression of "It doesn't rain but it pours". Other poets have written the sentiment with "Shake and shake the ketchup bottle/None'll come, and then a lot'll" (Richard Armour) or "Bloody men are like bloody buses -/You wait for about a year/And as soon as one approaches your stop/Two or three others appear." (Wendy Cope). My work is a lot like that and I suppose the quotes apply to my blog posts, too.
My home life is more than chaotic at the moment. Both parents are hoping to end their careers abruptly and my brother, attempting to finish his sixth year of a degree, is left with all the family bills. If now regular work accidents weren't enough I have a huge tendency to hurt myself that seems to be rapidly accelerating and one or two I-don't-know-if-I-should-date-you-right-now candidates. Beyond that I haven't visited my pregnant friend in a few weeks and she's not the only one I've neglected.
I enjoy chaos. Nothing pleases me more than the tension of urgency. In my line of work people get stressed over deadlines and professionalism, there's a lot of precision timing involved. Adrenaline kicks in and you never know which aspect of the show will fall on its (hopefully metaphorical) face. I love how most of the people I work with are intelligent people with a poor education, they can calculate up to 512 in a second but have never heard the word 'audibly'. These are the misfits of society who manage to pay tax. Others of them have masters in arts subjects and rebuilt corporations. There are men approaching 50 going for McDonalds at 3am. There are 21 year olds crawling under stages like babies. This is the business that keeps your mind young and your body old. I love the eclectic nature and the turmoil of the indefinite mess but I'm faced with several obstacles.
In a game like this you don't see many hot dinners, you eat what you're given. I have 27 food allergies so that gets me a little run down when you're doing heavy lifting 'til 3am. Besides that, I'm a 5" 1 girl who fought for her life five months ago... Heavy lifting is hard. There's a lot of putting on a game face and outwardly manipulating people going on around me, too. I prefer to smile sweetly and make tea. Beyond that, I run around in a world where dust, my natural enemy, invades all and one where most conversations involve sexist or sexual slurs, I have found the best thing to do is extend the jokes.
I've developed a new form of torture for myself in this world, too. Keeping my room neat messes with my head like I'm stumbling in drunk. I hate perfection.
So what now? What do I do with no future and less hope? How do I survive in a world tearing me down when I tear myself down even worse? I'm going back to college. I want a degree. I'm smart enough, if I can just focus for three years on something bigger than myself then I can get it. It's not too much.
I'm not going to lie to you, the reason I've not written in so long is because I wanted to die so desperately and you don't need to see me break. I want to give hope and understanding, not write from a place that I can't find a way out of.
"I've got a life out there somewhere,
It's waiting,
Lined with palm trees and only new faces.
If I could look past the present and get there
Well baby, it's worth a shot.
Just enough time to plan an escape route.
I put my map on the wall in the basement,
Not quite a victory to run from your problems
But it's the only plan that I got."
depressivedetails@gmail.com
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