First of all, please know that when I write this, I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m not looking for advice or counsel or even a hug (well, I might be looking for some hugs)… I don’t have an agenda in mind, other than me getting things off my chest so I don’t lose my mind. My original tagline for this blog was “Because I can’t afford therapy,” and I can’t, and so this blog acts as such. I’ve never been the kind of person to keep things bottled up, so this is my avenue to get them out. Anyway.
This is how I’m feeling today.
I feel like my psyche is a house of cards – every aspect of my life, every feeling, every challenge balancing precariously on the edge of another. No card can get too off-balance, or it will bring all of the rest of the cards down with it. One strong gust can bring down everything.
Right now, I’m afraid the house is too unstable. I’m afraid of becoming too unhinged. Deep down, I know I won’t. I’m too stubborn, and people who actually losing it will probably never say they’re losing it. But I feel dangerously close.
I don’t like feeling out of control. I enjoy the chance of unpredictability, and I can sometimes be impulsive, but I like stability in my present life. I don’t like feeling like I can’t fix things. And that’s what I feel like right now.
I can’t find an apartment. I feel like I can’t win against the city of New York, that I’m not capable of making it here. For the first time in my life, I want to just say fuck it, I give up. I feel like all of my friends are making progress in their lives – they’re getting promotions, or having kids, or buying a car or a house, and I’m stuck running on a treadmill that’s going faster than I can run, and I’m exhausted just trying not to fall off. I miss my family, and I miss friends in other cities, and I miss Pittsburgh. For the first time since moving away eight years ago, I am legitimately homesick. I’m lonely, and I’m frustrated, and I’m sick of fighting battles. I have been fighting battles for over two and a half years, and I thought at some point things would get easier, and I thought that if I did the right thing, I’d be rewarded eventually. I have been a good employee and a good friend. I have tried to be a courteous roommate, not moving out before I had committed to staying, and instead I’m frantically trying to find somewhere to live at the end of the month instead of taking my time and finding somewhere that’s comfortable and right for me.
And I’m really, really sick of people telling me it’s all going to be ok. No one knows that.
I’ve used up all my optimism. Even so, I feel incredibly guilty whining about my life, when I’m healthy and I have a job and a family that will help me when I need it and an iPhone and a vacation planned in a few months. I feel awful claiming woe is me, when there are people out there who are unemployed or abused by their husbands or who were shot by a madman carrying a gun into a midnight showing of a movie. I know I’m fortunate.
But, truth be told, I’m at the end of my rope.
Almost three years ago now, when trouble started in my marriage and my life, I started fighting against it. And I kept fighting, and I’ve been fighting ever since. I’m exhausted now. I’m sick of it. I want something – anything – to just work out. To just be easy for once. I want to get lucky. I want to meet a cute guy at a bar and go out with him a few days later. I want to find $50 on the subway. I want to find an apartment and not be homeless in eight days.
I struggle with karma these days. I used to believe that good things happen to good people, and that what goes around comes around. But I’m not sure I do anymore. I don’t think I’m owed anything, but at some point, I’d like a sign that trying to be a good person isn’t going to waste. Unless the universe is storing it all up for me, to be delivered at a (hopefully not too much) later date, in the form of a Jeremy Renner sized package waiting to make all my dreams come true.
A girl can dream, right?
Sometimes it’s the only way I keep the house of cards from collapsing.