suitably*woundedNormal People -- Does Not Compute
November 12th 2006 01:48
Ever since I began dealing with this drain on my soul, I understood how the other half lived. Hell, I'd just recently been in the same universe. And after that, I spent the first year clinging to normalcy and the second (and part of the fourth and fifth, which is my polite way of saying I ran hot and cold in my abilities to cope), assuming it was still out there while viewing it from afar. Sometime during year four and completely for all of the fifth, I began to grow weary to a pathetic degree and I started losing sight. Oh, I knew productive, functional people existed, but unless I encountered them in their native habitat, I felt they were just mythical creatures somewhere out there in the wild.
I think this brings me up to around 2001-ish and my initial foray back into the land of the living. In this case, I really didn't have much choice. Because, I'd kind of taken the 'if I die during surgery or survive,' it's a win-win situation in answer to the ridiculous weight gain I'd incurred from not doing another damn thing in the world. Or as my mother so eloquently put it; "Food was not my friend." Anyhoo, upon completion, I was forced (or, ya know, I really would die and not by my chosen method -- plus Jaceson had put out all that money we didn't have [sadly, this meant only about $300] because his insure covered the rest, for he worked at that particular bariatric facility) to follow through.
So this put me a step back into the rat race, but only tepidly. When we moved to Greenville in early 2002, I had one of those 'periods of wellness' I've already mentioned. Therefore, I went after what all I'd lost in the interim with a vengeance. I worked full-time at an office job again, I volunteered, I walked 5 ( ! ) miles daily and did yoga on the weekend, I played co-ed softball again in a league one night a week and I courted friends, all the while still trying to hold on to my marriage and the few things I had left, after all that hell, that I still loved. Needless to say, when it crashed on me by April, I was glad to have gotten roughly a year out of the deal. What proceeded from that, grew narrow and narrower.
A huge lapse screwed up all of 2004, some of which I'm too exhausted to go into now. In the next new year, I moved into a travel trailer (by myself except for my furry little friends -- has everyone met Toto and Indigo, my kitties?) and tried something that ended up being the least stressful job I've ever held.... waitressing. I loved it. The only problem was, it apparently didn't love me enough because out of the three restaurants I worked at, the first two went belly up. Damn, damn, damn. This was the point that I did freak out 2,789, 416 and moved back in with Jaceson. That was fun for him I bet. Then I tried another 'pulling myself up by the bootstraps' and aimed for endeavor 482,269, which I'm sure you either remember (because you've playing along at home, yelling at the TV for the idiot lead NOT TO GO INTO THE DARK!) or briefly, will consolidate it down to trailer in Dallas besieged by the lovely and persistent Rhoda. Yah, that ought about cover it.
My point is that along this way, I've become less and less able to grasp how the majority lives. In off moments I flirt with it myself, when everything is quiet for a bit and I honestly can't conjure up being sick. It's like the reverse of lucid dreaming. The feeling passes quickly but leaves in its wake whether or not I'm faking. Can you imagine, I wonder this myself Ha. From the person who has hidden under a dining room table indefinitely, repeatedly worn her pajamas in full regalia (although they are cute, I tell you) out shopping (when I could be dragged, that is), can't even clean out the kitty litter despite the smell or fix herself something to eat, even if it's only a can of ravioli. True, I'd rather have that[ /I] on my sparking resume for my 20th year high school reunion I missed. What will the other cheerleaders think?!
I guess all that leads me to this: I no longer, because it's vanished completely, grok how the average life goes. From the regular responsibilities that most face (mortgage, raising kids, etc.), to the mundane (Honey, did you pick up the dry cleaning? Don't forget to put gas in the car! Julie's dance recital is at 7:30 Wednesday.) and then the unfathomable, like losing your entire retirement or a loved one dying. It can't make sense to me anymore. Nor add up. Apparently, even comprehension seems to ge out of my grasp these days. And this is when I so fucking want to just throw in the towel and give up. Because I really am that tired, alone, useless and a burden to Jaceson. Someday, perhaps it'll be right.
Peaces regardless,
~Kemi
I think this brings me up to around 2001-ish and my initial foray back into the land of the living. In this case, I really didn't have much choice. Because, I'd kind of taken the 'if I die during surgery or survive,' it's a win-win situation in answer to the ridiculous weight gain I'd incurred from not doing another damn thing in the world. Or as my mother so eloquently put it; "Food was not my friend." Anyhoo, upon completion, I was forced (or, ya know, I really would die and not by my chosen method -- plus Jaceson had put out all that money we didn't have [sadly, this meant only about $300] because his insure covered the rest, for he worked at that particular bariatric facility) to follow through.
So this put me a step back into the rat race, but only tepidly. When we moved to Greenville in early 2002, I had one of those 'periods of wellness' I've already mentioned. Therefore, I went after what all I'd lost in the interim with a vengeance. I worked full-time at an office job again, I volunteered, I walked 5 ( ! ) miles daily and did yoga on the weekend, I played co-ed softball again in a league one night a week and I courted friends, all the while still trying to hold on to my marriage and the few things I had left, after all that hell, that I still loved. Needless to say, when it crashed on me by April, I was glad to have gotten roughly a year out of the deal. What proceeded from that, grew narrow and narrower.
A huge lapse screwed up all of 2004, some of which I'm too exhausted to go into now. In the next new year, I moved into a travel trailer (by myself except for my furry little friends -- has everyone met Toto and Indigo, my kitties?) and tried something that ended up being the least stressful job I've ever held.... waitressing. I loved it. The only problem was, it apparently didn't love me enough because out of the three restaurants I worked at, the first two went belly up. Damn, damn, damn. This was the point that I did freak out 2,789, 416 and moved back in with Jaceson. That was fun for him I bet. Then I tried another 'pulling myself up by the bootstraps' and aimed for endeavor 482,269, which I'm sure you either remember (because you've playing along at home, yelling at the TV for the idiot lead NOT TO GO INTO THE DARK!) or briefly, will consolidate it down to trailer in Dallas besieged by the lovely and persistent Rhoda. Yah, that ought about cover it.
My point is that along this way, I've become less and less able to grasp how the majority lives. In off moments I flirt with it myself, when everything is quiet for a bit and I honestly can't conjure up being sick. It's like the reverse of lucid dreaming. The feeling passes quickly but leaves in its wake whether or not I'm faking. Can you imagine, I wonder this myself Ha. From the person who has hidden under a dining room table indefinitely, repeatedly worn her pajamas in full regalia (although they are cute, I tell you) out shopping (when I could be dragged, that is), can't even clean out the kitty litter despite the smell or fix herself something to eat, even if it's only a can of ravioli. True, I'd rather have that[ /I] on my sparking resume for my 20th year high school reunion I missed. What will the other cheerleaders think?!
I guess all that leads me to this: I no longer, because it's vanished completely, grok how the average life goes. From the regular responsibilities that most face (mortgage, raising kids, etc.), to the mundane (Honey, did you pick up the dry cleaning? Don't forget to put gas in the car! Julie's dance recital is at 7:30 Wednesday.) and then the unfathomable, like losing your entire retirement or a loved one dying. It can't make sense to me anymore. Nor add up. Apparently, even comprehension seems to ge out of my grasp these days. And this is when I so fucking want to just throw in the towel and give up. Because I really am that tired, alone, useless and a burden to Jaceson. Someday, perhaps it'll be right.
Peaces regardless,
~Kemi
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