no sympathy for the lazy

I don’t sympathize
with myself when I don’t get
a bit of work done.

I punish myself
with negative thoughts and hate
what I have become.

+++

Moving back in with my parents last week has been incredibly hard to adjust to.

I have barely had a few moments alone besides late at night when everyone is sleeping and therefore haven’t been getting enough good sleep.

Worst thing: I have been paralyzed, feeling like I don’t have a thing to say, feeling like I am failing myself over and over again every day that I don’t reach toward my goals.

It makes me feel crazy.

How can I feel like I have nothing to say?

I have everything to say, I am just scared to say anything; I am just scared of everything.

Just start, just start, just start.

I have no sympathy for myself when the only thing that’s holding me back is me.

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Cheers to Reboots

So, I’ve come home for a while.

Last night was my first night sleeping back in my old high school bedroom, tonight is the first night Elise is spending here, and so tomorrow morning is when we wake up and start our lives over again.

That’s what it feels like to me, anyway.

All moves involve some level of change and transformation, but this feels more significant because the only way I am getting out of here is by succeeding at what I want to do – make a living writing – and I haven’t quite figured out how to do that yet.

I am fortunate to have this respite, I am even more fortunate to know that it’s temporary, and hopefully, within six months or less I’ll be moving in with a friend (actually, a friend’s mom), and knowing that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel here makes it much easier to bear.

This is my reboot and a second chance.

I have to admit, for the first time today, when I woke up this morning it wasn’t dread for the future that was dominating my mind.

Not everyone gets second chances, or third chances, or fourth chances.

So far, I’m one of the lucky ones.

I’m going home again.

I only have four more sleeps here in my apartment before Elise and I are moving back to my parent’s house.

I can’t believe this is happening, let alone that I am here talking about it, but I’m starting to come around to the notion that talking about the things that scare me is exactly what I need to do.

I am still processing the shock that this is happening.

How many times have I turned to a friend and said don’t ever let me get a roommate again or I’d rather live in a tent than move back in with my parents.?

One time I actually told a few friends verbatim:

I want you to physically hit me about the face if I ever speak of getting another roommate, and then within three years moved in with Todd.

He wasn’t so bad. Matter of fact, he was the best roommate I’ve ever had, and we’re still friends after living together, and that says a lot in retrospect.

So, yeah, it’s happening.

I’m not happy about it. I’m actually filled with shame that I’m 35 years old and have gotten myself too financially fucked up to get another apartment, which is a whole other story of why the world sucks today and punishes people who have it hardest, which brings even more shame, which makes everything harder, and so on and so forth until these run-on sentences bring their own shame.

On the other hand, I remind myself how fortunate I am for the following:

  • having parents
  • having parents who love me and welcome my child and me into their home while I sort it out
  • having parents who support me, even though I’m totally insane

 

***

I have a lot of shit to work out, besides the financials.

I have to figure out what to do for Elise. Regular middle school is just not an option for her at this point, the longer she is out of mainstream school, the happier we are. I don’t anticipate ever willing putting her back in public school, because I don’t think, well, they aren’t right for us, for sure.

But, there is definitely something lacking with the homeschooling, and that’s interaction with other kids. I knew this would be the hardest thing to facilitate because for one thing, I have terrible social anxiety and never want to leave the house, and she has terrible social skills and is very immature for her age so has an extremely hard time relating to other kids of any age, typical or not.

Our counselor gave me a great kick in the butt today on this topic. I asked her what other parents of kids like Elise were doing when they had these socialization issues and she just shrugged and said:

“Most of them don’t end up doing anything. They try a few things, nothing works, they get tired of trying all this bullshit on top of all the regular bullshit at home, and so they just… don’t. They stay home, they watch TV, and they’re happier that way.”

Until the guilt comes back, I thought, but also – yeah, I get that. That’s me. That’s us. That’s trying a bunch of stuff and just being happier at home.

But now we don’t have our own home anymore, and I don’t know how this new situation is going to affect our lives, but, I feel the need to write about it.

Thankfully, on top of a supportive family, I have great friends who are making me feel better when I feel so shitty about this. Everyone goes home sometimes, and you’re not a failure, you just need a little help right now, are exactly the things I need to hear to keep me from crying myself to sleep every night.

Like, am I seriously about to go back to the very high school bedroom where my lifetime of anxiety and depression began? With my disabled child in tow?

Okay. This is fine.

Onward, and all that.

The Winter Slump

talgat-baizrahmanov-206220

When I’m particularly depressed, which I have been more in the last two or three months than I have been in the last few years, I don’t really do much.

I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning, I don’t want to leave the house, ever, for anything, and when it comes to things I have to do, like for work, I literally go out of my way to do anything and everything to NOT do those things, including and up to cleaning my house.

Of course, the winter makes things everything worse.

The cold makes it so that even on occasions where I might want to leave the house, I still feel like I am being personally assaulted by the weather, insult adding more injury.

It really, really sucks.

As my moods undulate the current of my days, I’m finding myself just trying my best to hold on tight, to screw my lips into something resembling a smile as I walk out of my room in the morning wondering what fresh new hell the day will bring.

I’ve been worrying a lot lately about Elise worrying about me.

I don’t want her to have memories of her mom always crying.

Even this, a commitment to daily writing, and writing more and more throughout the year, even this is a chore that I sometimes have to drag myself to only minutes before the day ends.

I’m still always surprised when the day ends and we’re all okay, and I know I’m not the only one feeling it this year.

Photo by:Talgat Baizrahmanov