The pity party has been in full swing. For months, I tell ya. Months. Part of my highs and lows, you have witnessed on the very pages of this blog, and I would always profess that I was on the upswing of a down slope. Yeah. I’m sort of a liar. The truth is, I’m still pretty sad. Who knows how long this will go on? I’m hoping it ends soon, but I’ve been trying to mind fuck myself into thinking I knew the answer. I don’t. And that’s because there are about a million reasons why. It’s not as simple as suffering from chronic depression. I have a whole bunch of things currently going on in my life that make me wish I could stay in bed for about a month. Taking a pill will not help me cope with any of these issues. I need…I don’t know what the hell I need.
I’ve recently discovered that the kids’ father is terminally ill. Thus far, the outlook has not bee positive. Regardless of my issues with him, I wouldn’t wish something like this upon ANY person. Additionally, I set free my baggage with him long ago, and outside of him doing things to directly impede the day to day happenings already in place, I treated him with casual ambivalence. This however, is a little different. I’m really praying for the strength to help my kids through this time, and the compassion to treat him like a decent human being. He, of course, does not make it easy, but I remind myself that I can only do what I can do. It’s up to him to express interest in spending time with the kids at this difficult time. My feelings on that are by no means easy, either.
I’m not a pill girl, and I have yet to make time for a therapy session so I’m really focusing on my prayer and my meditation. It helps some, but it doesn’t always combat my blues. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in my own clusterfuckery. That’s heavy when you are drowning in yourself.
No. I need I would like companionship. Like, for real. But the nature of my personality tells me that it’s gonna be a HOT minute before that happens. I summed it up in an emotional vomit session with one of my friends:
Me, I’m a rubix cube as far as dudes are concerned. In the beginning, it’s fascinating that everybody doesn’t “get it” so there’s something admirable about taking a shot at the title, in a manner of speaking. Until he realizes that he doesn’t get it either. So, subconsciously or not, the resign themselves to the fact that I’m not meant to be gotten. How many times have you ever even seen a completed Rubix cube after it’s been jumbled? Only freakish weirdos. So I get the speech: that I’m a unique and special person, and SOME dude is going to be SO LUCKY, and as much as he WISHES he could be that dude, he realizes that he just CAN’T. I’m convinced there’s a “Break up with Melanie” template somewhere (*look down now* *sigh here*).
And rather than set loose my apocalyptic anger, because I don’t want to be branded as an immature chick who throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way, I eat something…or everything.
As extroverted as I am, it’s come to my attention that I sort of exist on the fringe of everything. I’m not a neat and tidy, hospital corners type of chick. I don’t limit myself on “this” train of thought, simply because I feel a certain way about “that.” It just doesn’t work that way with me. Sometimes, I feel a certain way about a thing simply on the strength of feeling that way about it. It can’t get no deeper than that. Hence, making me a little bundle of contradictions. And bundles of contradictions don’t always do well in the dating world.
And yeah…it’s coming back to that, because who wants to do this shit alone ALL the time. My family and friends are great. My kids…jeez, they’re rock stars. (I never group them in with “family,” not because they aren’t family, but because they ARE me, and therefore, have their own category.) But there’s something to be said about having a person to walk with you through the muck that is your life – and walk with them through the muck that is theirs – in semi-matching boots. Is that too much?
For a long time, I bucked against the idea of that, because for a long time, there was no space in my life for it. Even when I was kicking it with the Chupacabra Hunter (whom I did, and for the foreseeable future will, love), there was a certain separateness that we each guarded, where we went through life in relative close proximity, but through our own respective mucks. I’d like to meet a fella interested in muck-puddle jumping. And occasionally being, and having, brief comic respite. Oh…and sex. I would like to have sex please.
Even the biggest, toughest battleships have harbors.