slip week

I was doing so good and then I slipped the last couple of days.

It’s not my fault that my fight-or-flight reaction is a little screwy and sometimes my brain genuinely thinks that playing in traffic would solve problems. I’m not even sure if that was suicidal inclination or just wanting to be in a coma for like the next month so I don’t have to deal with the emotionally-manipulative bullshit parade that is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. (Which is… another post I may actually do at some point between now and Christmas, and a pretty important part of my emotional journey, and probably gonna be my next tattoo since it’s the off-season for my preferred expensive hobby.) Yes, Monday was a shitshow and I’m not sure how I’m gonna apologize to my wolf for this one (or if I even need to), but I didn’t DO anything.

I didn’t DO anything yesterday either, when my week got derailed ten minutes before I was supposed to get off work. Yay family emergency. Unfortunately too many of y’all know my fam in real life, and I’m not sure how we’re publicly handling this one, but there’s some chaos going on there. Not my story to tell, but still stressing me out because right now I look like the normal child and that’s a little weird.

And I didn’t DO anything today either, unless you count crying for like half an hour because yet another of my casual acquaintances is pregnant. ANOTHER ONE. That makes… idk, I wanna say right now six or seven people spamming my social media feeds with their baby bumps?? And most of them are younger than me, which is so not helping. I’m 24. I still probably have fifteen years of fertility left. But I wanna USE those years, dammit. I want to BE the one obsessing over every little detail of my imminent tiny human. Not the jealous single girl watching.

So, I guess I’ve been good. Lot of bad brain stuff but all kept safely passive-aggressive. I need to find a way to make things right with one person in particular, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to balance out that relationship and I’m not sure it’s doable. Otherwise… yeah. It’s only Wednesday. Anything could happen.

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love is…

… “she’s FINE, she’s one of the toughest people I know” followed a minute later by “what do you mean she might’ve spontaneously taken a trip to Australia?!?”

… being very, very thrilled when I do not find any arrest records for the above-mentioned person (who is still not accounted for, but probably off on some wild adventure. or somebody’s kid broke her phone. or both).

… friendships that feel like warm blankets and coming home.

… borderline compulsive worrying that usually ends up being TOTALLY NECESSARY because why oh why do I attract so many people with no self-preservation abilities.

… reminding my people that they mean a lot to me and that I am way easier to deal with when they tell me what’s going on instead of making me wonder. (and that in turn minimizes the above compulsive worrying.)

… making squishy knitted things because if I can’t hug you as often as I want to (or like ever because you’re on the other side of the freaking continent), that’s the next best thing.

… knowing that I’m 23 and I’ve got a really solid list of people I am honored to be friends with and be connected to.

… accepting that all forms of human kindness are beautiful, not just the kind that actually means “I want you”.

do something

I’ve had it up to here with passive-aggressiveness.

As usual with most of my frustrations, there’s a few contributing factors here. There’s the culture of random catfights at my work (for those of you who don’t know me in RL, I work in retail and that’s honestly a whole ‘nother post but sufficient to say, I have some INTERESTING coworkers). There’s the wildlife on Facebook who I can’t unfriend for whatever reason (usually ’cause I want to watch them completely trainwreck in a couple years) who post so, so many political things but don’t have actual SOLUTIONS. There’s similar bullshit on Tumblr, which is why I haven’t even checked my tracked tags on there in like a month because I can’t deal with people. There’s… guh.

Again, my background comes back to bite me. Again, having grown up in a fairly normal family that for whatever reason attempted to blend in with the conservative wildlife comes back and my disillusionment has roots somewhere in my teens.

I guess my frustration with people who have problems but don’t ACT ON THEM started with the pro-life movement. (I’m about to ruffle some feathers here, so if that topic is really important to you, this is your warning to quit reading.) Obviously, as a good Bubble kid, that was something I grew up around. Worse, as a good Bubble kid who was adopted right after birth, that was something I couldn’t escape. When I was younger, my mother was prone to waving the “I adopted three unwanted children” flag every chance she got. (She’s toned it down over the last couple years, but still brings it out for special occasions.) It was her sainthood, and as far as that goes… far be it from me to judge one of someone’s more harmless hangups, but as one of the kids in question it did feel an awful lot like a guilt trip.

But as per usual when dealing with the Bubble, my mother was comparatively tame. On this issue, a little more dramatically than most. Even outsiders know that pro-life is THE issue that defines the Bubble. It’s not an optional belief, like headcoverings or the more obnoxious strain of Calvinism. It’s a REQUIREMENT. But at least in my experience, it was dealt with the same way every other cause was – talk about it until lungs and lips turn blue, throw money at the problem, maybe serve on an organizing committee if you’re REALLY dedicated to the cause, and… that’s it. That’s where it begins and ends.

Now, apply that approach to literally any issue that bothers anyone. That’s generally how it works. For issues of a wide variety. By people from a wide variety of backgrounds.

I just… I can’t.

I can’t.

If something bothers you as much as you claim it does, DO SOMETHING. Time goes a hell of a lot further than money. Don’t just sit there and post shit on FB. DO SOMETHING.

And if you’re not willing to put up the effort to turn your beliefs into actions… maybe you should rethink them. Y’know. Maybe.

single girl vs. baby fever

It’s that time of year again – the time of year when I find myself thinking, on repeat, that I’m five if not ten years too young for the chaos around me. In years past, this usually meant that wedding season was beginning, but this year is an even worse flavor of “not sure if jealous or just really annoyed”.

Basically half my FB friend list is pregnant. I am not. freaking. kidding.

I know, I know – natural progression of life, I’m young, and I still know a disproportionately annoying percentage of super-religious straight married people. At some point in my life, the babypocalypse is inevitable.

But now?? Srsly??

Being surrounded by people who have what I don’t (but want so desperately) is getting annoying.

I’d be good with a kid or three. I know myself well enough to know that. But that’s not where my life is right now.

Unfortunately, I remain alone while everyone else in sight is posting bump updates and eagerly awaiting their tiny humans. SIGH.

I know, I know. I’m being That Girl right now. But it’s not my fault that my hormones won’t shut up.

I need to do something about this…

see me

I’ve always been the invisible girl.

Never the pretty one – never, ever the pretty one. (Which led to a bunch of body image issues that I am just now processing.)

Never the talented one either, although that might have been several levels above my control. (Church music ain’t written for low altos, FIGHT ME. I’ve been mad about that since I was like 12 and I have no plans to get over it anytime soon.)

But on the other hand, not the defective one. At least, not in a way anyone bothered to notice.

I was just… not. there.

I am still. not. there.

Funny thing is, there was a time when I thought this was good. When invisibility meant survival in the isolated world I grew up in.

But I grew up. I took steps away. And it wasn’t enough.

I’m not enough.

All I’m asking for is to be seen, dammit.

I am asking for my body to be enough. I am asking for my heart to be enough. I am asking for my scars to be enough.

Someday, I tell myself. Someday someone will see me.

For now, as I scroll down my Facebook feed and see all the engagement pictures and baby pictures, I’m annoyed that my current combo of meds means I can’t drink alcohol and I’m annoyed that I don’t get a lot of time with my caretaker-person. Mrow.