Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Some Days

I need to write.  It is just one of those day, but sitting here, I have not idea what to write.  I wish I understood the point to all of this mess.  I wish I understood the point; that there is a point I have no doubt, it is just what it is that eludes me.

P O I N T

There it sits, perfectly spelled out and everything; but even spelled perfectly, I still do not understand it.  

I felt so good about applying for that job, the one I had four interviews for and really wanted.  But, as it often happens, there was only one position and I did not get it.  I was one of the last two, out of over 200 applicants, and still my odds were only ever even.  Another position has opened in the same company, almost identical to the one I almost got, but I am terrified to apply for it.  Why would this be?  The worst that can happen is that I do not get this one either.  Or would it be worse to actually get the job?  I am so confused, I am not even running in circles anymore, it is more like bad crazy quilting, the kind that overlaps in all the wrong places with no pattern whatsoever.  

I need an occupation, a career, something that keeps me both busy and feeling productive.  Somehow, in the last year, being a wife is just not enough.  Perhaps this is because I feel that I am a failure at being a wife.  I try to get routines going, try to get things organized and in order.  Trying to downsize.  But somehow this is not enough, even on the days that I really get things done.  The days where I have dinner waiting  when my husband walks in the door from work; the days where the laundry not only got washed but also folded and put away; the days that the dishes are all washed and the kitchen is spotless; the days where I am doing, rather than simply being.  Perhaps it is simply that those days are so few and far between.  And for the last several months, I spend most days counting the smallest of accomplishments because nothing big happens.  

Some days all I have is that I am alive and out of bed. 

Some days my poor husband comes home from work and I have crawled back in bed.

Some days it takes everything I have to get out of bed in the first place.

These are important steps, but I hate that they are all I have.  

oh... something makes horrible, terrible sense to me.  I want to make a difference for others, but how the hell am I supposed to help other people when I cannot even help myself?!  

Add to this the fear that things will never change for me, that I will be broken for the rest of forever and never be happy for longer than a day at a time every few months.  

I am tired of the crap, the anger, the tired itself.  There is a  P O I N T, fine.  But I am not staying here any longer.  I am not a victim, not even of my own making.  I am not doing the "same old" any more, because it does not work.  I will beat this, because I have watched others give up and I will not make the same mistake.  I will not sit and let life go past anymore, I will go out and find it for myself.  I have no idea how this will work out, but I think I am finally angry enough to let go of the Devil I know for the Devil I don't.  And as I go about this, if people do not understand what I am doing or why, that is their problem.  There are some things I need to do for me, things that are hard and hard to understand if you have not had to face them yourself.  

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