But truly come on universe.
I sat down with a friend yesterday for a cup of coffee (and wine, whatever, don't judge) and told her all about my life lately.
It's incredibly jarring.
I hate opening up to people because it's just very depressing.
Not that my friend would have in a million years expressed that. But really, when you are dealing with some crappy things in your life, you hate to scatter your crap everywhere. I almost want to lie or just omit the truth because it brings others down.
"How are you?!"
"My husband lies to me about his drinking!"
"Whelp see ya later."
See? Not very fun.
"How's the job hunt?"
"I've applied to over 30 jobs in the last 2 months and the only people who want to hire me offer $10/hour. I can't get a babysitter for that."
Or even more fun,
"How are your kids?"
"You mean the one that I just miscarried or the two that have been clinging to a respiratory virus for the past 3 weeks keeping us homebound?"
Who wouldn't want to hang out with me?
And I keep buying wine with the expectation of partially drowning my sorrows but then my damn husband drinks it all before I can.
I told my friend I want to start a church for broken people, for honest people.
I'm tired of fake.
I'm tired of lying.
I'm tired of people acting like everything is grand so they don't give a bad image to Christianity.
Well guess what? Anyone can have crap happen to them- good people, bad people, saints or satanists. It is inhuman to smile while suffering. That's why it's called suffering. Isn't it better to reach out to people instead, to say "I am hurting" and "I need help" instead of pushing them away and trying to rely on your own strength?
Whatever, I should take my own advice.
Instead I have been hibernating in my house so as to not cough on people, wondering if the bleak winter will swallow us whole for another 4 months, and whether or not I will reemerge with the will to try this all again, to put myself out there, to have hope.
I'm not suicidal. I'm not depressed. I'm just slowly being drained of optimism.
What I am, apparently, is a product of a controlling household. Who married a control freak. Who can't do anything without being told what to do or how to do it.
I ask God for guidance and have no way to proceed.
I'm in a maze and paralyzed by indecision.
I'm a bad metaphor.
I also saw a psychiatrist who said I don't fit any of the classifications for disorders. So I'm just anxious and depressed enough to be a joy to be around (ask my husband who leaves work early to go drink and not be around me), while not being quite crazy. He suggested some drugs for me but I cannot cope with side effects at this stage of my crazy. He suggested yoga.
Here I go trying yoga.
a friend once wrote that he wished God would give us little note cards when we're born, with our purpose and our life plan written on them. not knowing what to expect is so much scarier, though i don't like the idea of that level of determinism either. i'm free will baby, all the way. you are NOT depressing anyone. talk or don't talk, but please don't censor yourself around your friends. we love you and want to hear about your life. the good, bad, and ugly. and hey, i have the added bonus in my anxiety of worrying that i'm letting down people who have passed away. like, i want them to be proud of me, and i don't feel there's anything in my life that i'm proud of these days. so at the very least, we can commiserate together. i'll bring the fake wine. oh, and i'm joining your church. we meet any time after noon, for the love. xoxo
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