I have done so many things when processing where I am right now. I have gone the “this was meant to be” route and “the universe is trying to tell me something” route and the “one door closes blah blah blah” route and the “Just make that lemonade!” route and on and on and on and on.
I have even done the route where I ponder the whole “do what makes you happy and the money will follow” route. When I am in the mood, I start to google jobs that sound kind of enjoyable and see how much training is needed and how much I can possibly make and still contribute to the mortgage for a house in the suburbs with a water view.
Lululemon still is not on the table.
I have done the “planning for next year route” and the “attempt at spiritual guidance” route and “doing the yoga every morning route” and “eating my veggies and my yogurt to stay healthy” route and the “going for my runs despite the depression making my legs feel like huge logs filled with more logs inside of them” route.
I have gone the “occasionally venting to my friends” route (but no friend likes a whiner. I’m sorry – no matter how much you love and care for them and say you are there for them – enough can be fucking enough sometimes and I know that).
So I haven’t gone that route too much.
I have done the “ice cream and Netflix-Showtime binge” route and the “going to Victoria’s Secret and buying all the leggings” route and the “I’m gonna finish this bottle of wine tonight” route and the positive affirmation “it was THEM not me” route.
I have spent drunken nights compulsively purchasing things on the internet, and have awoken to emails informing me my order is on the way.
Drunk-purchasing compression socks from Groupon on a Saturday night might very well be my new bottom.
I feel lately I have been going in every single direction like a baffled little duckling trying to follow every notion coming to my “What-am-I-doing-with-my-life” addled brain.
I have even decided that maybe I want to study reiki and chakras and have started reading new agey books that belong to my hubby.
I even signed up for a reiki course.
And… now I have a reiki course coming up soon and I have no idea what the hell I was thinking.
I know that all these routes have had their place in helping me navigate through this. Navigate myself through the hellish waters of my self-doubt and crippling dysfunctional depression that has so far been consuming the crap out of me.
Not all of it has been helpful. However – not all of it has been completely useless.
For one, I now have some pretty ballin butterfly compression socks to go running in, courtesy of a lonely, saturday-evening drunken me. I never would have bought those socks for myself stone cold sober. But a looser, free-wheeling version of myself saw them and said “Girl – You need to live a little and buy yourself some motherfuckin SOCKS.”
And BOOM – just like that – new socks.
With all of these routes I have been winding through – whether drunk, sober, or lumbering around like a stoned zombie muttering “What the shit”??? I think somewhere, I have found some middle ground to keep me afloat.
Throughout all of this, anytime I felt like I might drown, some inner resolve still kicked in. It is this same resolve that shows up like some billionaire aunt once every few years and takes you on a mad-crazy shopping spree. (I don’t REALLY have an aunt like that – but how awesome would that be???)
This resolve that always shows up in my darkest hour.
It comes through for me and keeps me from turning into one of those old ladies going food shopping in their nightgown with their own carts and rambling about how the government is jacking up the price of 9-Lives as a way to control us all into becoming communist socialists.
Thank you – inner resolve. Thank you – for doing your job when I needed you. Even if you have been a dim, far away bulb in my dungeon of darkness. I know you are trying.
As much as I have worked towards keeping my big-girl panties pulled all the way the hell up, and that lid screwed on tight in my daily interactions with the everyday world, I have denied myself another important route. I have denied myself the opportunity to just indulge in the simplicity of tumbling into pure, irrational rage of what has happened to me. The reality that I did the job I was asked to do, did it well, and it still was not enough.
What I realized I needed was good old-fashioned self-pity.
Anger for the sake of anger. No direction. No clear function.
I just needed a moment to be full on pissed.
I tried to avoid it. I didn’t want to have a tantrum. To stomp and pout like some big asshole middle-aged toddler. It’s not cute. It’s not pretty. Or sexy. Or productive.
But I still needed to do it.
And…. one night, I brushed my teeth.
I checked my Facebook and my Instagram and put a book over the water glass next to my bed so the cat couldn’t splash around in it all friggen night.
I set the alarm clock on my iPad to wake me up with peaceful twinkly sounds at 4:30 in the God-forsaken morning to do my yoga and turned off the light.
I pulled up the covers to my chin, and turned over.
And then, just like that… It happened.
Hubby woke up to my wailing.
My mantra of “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK”
Sobbing. Breathless gasps. Sob after sob after sob. Slightly more pathetic than the Fuck-bombing that occurs after you stub your toe, or – say – drop an entire box of vinyl records onto your knuckles while unpacking stuff in your basement. I can vouch for both of those.
There was no real point to the Fuck-song I was singing that night. no clear point or message or anything. It was just me – a lost little human against the vastness of the deep dark night questioning everything. Crushed by how unfair it all seemed – I did my job as well as I could – the job I have studied for and trained for and always received praise for.
And it meant nothing.
I had no control of the outcome when up until then, I always had control of the work that I did. And how other people saw the work that I did. This job that defined me. This success that I have carried around like a trophy. I didn’t know who I was half the time. But I knew I could proudly say I was “Good at My Job.”
But… no more.
Now I was just a tantrummy middle-aged asshole shouting F-bombs into the night and waking up her husband.
But… My hubby didn’t mind. I have a feeling he knew this was brewing in the shit show that was my mind lately.
I felt the warmth of his biceps. The firmness of his chest. Pulling me into the strong energy that always attracted me but could never save me from myself. I struggled for breath and for forgiveness and for light beyond the anger. Usually, he tells me something profound. Some Buddhist teaching to help me see my problem clearly. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it pisses me off.
That night, he held me quietly. I chanted “Fuck” like it was some kind of mantra. And, in a way, that night – it was.
I emptied myself out. I sobbed and raged and kicked and yelled. I was powerless and it did nothing to fix it. But, it was another route I needed to take to find my way out of the darkness that I alone was putting myself in. It was the only path that I had left before I could once again see a dull glow of something in the distance. Like a filmy glow of a lighthouse through the fog of my pain.
That cheerful billionaire Auntie. That inner resolve waving from far, far off in the distance.
Telling me she is making her way back to me after hearing my call.