January 8, 2025

Same Historic Events, Different Generation

Since Zuck decided to join the Nazi party, I have ditched both facebook and instagram. I have zero interest in participating in that nonsense. This boot licking Magat shit has truly been something to behold. The way every rich piece of shit has kissed the ring since he was elected is astonishing, but weirdly unsurprising. Of course they have… they need more money to add to their Everest of cash.

Unattaching myself from social media accomplishes two-fold, it makes it where I no longer will participate in the bullshit while simultaneously protecting my fragile world view.

Last night watching Tiktoks I found myself panicked about the state of the world. Once again I am reminded how insignificant I am and how little control I have over my own existence. To combat this I have decided to narrow down the media I consume. I need to put myself into a position where I am informed but not so filled with anxiety that I am slowly lose my mind. It’s a genuinely fine line to walk because, let’s face it, I am crazy.

The one aspect of this “purge” (for lack of a better word) that upsets me is that I did it after Charlie’s passing. He so wanted me to unplug and not let my thoughts be consumed by that which I had zero control over. He begged me. I just refused. It is one of my many regrets. The thought of not staying “on top of everything” was too upsetting for me. As if knowing that the missile was coming would somehow save me when it’s detonation was imminent and there would be no way for me to get out of the blast zone. Y’know what I mean?

Burying my head in the sand isn’t going to stop the world and the “powers that be” from doing what they can and will do. All I can do is respond to that which is before me. Until I encounter it, it is none of my concern.

My sister-in-law asked me on election night if I genuinely thought we would turn into Nazi Germany and… I hesitated to answer. I don’t know. I just don’t. However we are told repeatedly that history repeats itself. If you’re gifted with pattern recognition you will see that there are so many similarities between then and now that you’d have to be the optimist of optimists to not believe where we are headed.

January 2, 2025

A Ghost Ship Sails Into 2025

I can’t let a New Year arrive and not do my usual post… I’m almost certain I’ve done one every Jan 1st since I started my first ever blog on Xanga. Granted, I am a little late by doing it on the 2nd. I was otherwise preoccupied yesterday as I was adhering to the restrictions of the “Cline – Hensley Christmas Truce of 2005.” I am proud to say that peace has been maintained for another year.

Before I go any further I must warn you that this is going to be sad. I don’t mean it to be. Nor am I trying to garner sympathy. I am just sharing my experiences within the wake of loss and grief. Just know I am fine. I am powering through. There is no hint or whiff of self-harm anywhere in my body. Were you to have metaphysical powers to examine me, all you would find is the comfort and acceptance I have for my own mortality. So, fear not dear reader!

There was an urge to write this last night before the day passed, but I couldn’t be bothered. At home all I have is my phone and, if I am feeling the energy to do so, I can lug my huge laptop into the living room where I balance it on my sweaty thighs to do my writing. Neither of those really spoke to me. Therefore I decided to wait until I was sitting in the office at my PC to quickly write this out. (I’m on commission. It’s fine.) And here it is:

I have no hope for this year. None. I do not think that it will be bad, which it most likely will, but I also do not think it will be good. I think we’re all going to collectively have another parade of lessons we better be prepared for, which I am certain no one is. If Covid taught me anything it is that society has an unhealthy amount of willful ignorance and stubbornness.

As I look into the stretch of another year spinning through the Milky Way, I lack any ambition or drive to complete anything. Most people have “Travel more” or “be more kind.” On the other hand, I just want to exist. I see no sense in trying to set up some ambitious goal I will most likely break. No grand pronouncement on some digital platform is going to force me into adhering to it. The fact of the matter is, I don’t care. I don’t see any hope or joy on the horizon, even when there is very much “joy” within sight.

I have a bunch of fun vacations planned throughout the year, but they pale in comparison to the fact that my job is only getting worse. Whether unintentionally or by design is yet to be seen. I’ve given my “boss” a year deadline and if Trump doesn’t magically turn the world into a wealth making machine “for everyone” then I’m fucked. So, in short, I’m fucked.

Do not despair, dear reader. I am not giving up without putting in the last bits of gusto I have left. I promised my husband I would complete my education to achieve the next step in my career. He had wanted me to do this while he was still alive, however caring for him at his whims and doing the courses would have genuinely driven me insane. I told him I was going to put a pin in that, but I promised, promised him that I would complete it once he was gone. It’s been over six months and I have at least purchased the required courses. They sit, unopened in my on-line school “library.” All I have to do is, well, do them. Once those are completed I take the required proctored exams for each one, apply to the state office, (if approved) take the ultimate exam for licensing and then pay the fee. So. No need to get overwhelmed. One thing at a time…

Some would say this is a New Year’s resolution but it isn’t. It’s baggage from a previous engagement. Again I am not in control of my own choices. I am bound to promises from long ago. Which is fine, not a complaint. More just another example that our lives don’t seem to belong to us, but rather to outside forces that tear at us from opposing sides.

I enter 2025 with no hope or promise, just apathy. I am an empty vessel. This may turn out to be a good thing. It leaves me at the ready for new experiences and opportunities. Ultimately this current state of existence protects me from the stress and anguish that is absolutely coming.

December 24, 2024

Rainy Day Ruminations

I like when I try to write a post that comes off more as a school essay than an artistic piece pouring forth from my soul. I prefer the ones that come in uninhibited. They exist to exist and serve no purpose other than to impart how I’m feeling in the moment. Think of them as literary snapshots. Little photographs I can look back on, if I ever decide to re-read anything I’ve previously posted, and say to myself “Man, I was feeling it that day.”

Today I started some ridiculous piece about how if the government banned tiktok it would do a huge disservice, other than breaking it’s only fucking laws. With the app I have learned so much about myself in this very roundabout way. Most of the videos that scroll across my FYP have to do with trauma. Haven’t a clue why… But the algorithm knows all, I suppose. I never thought I was one who had responded negatively to it. However one evening, wading the sea of my thoughts, it occurred to me that I have.

Growing up I was a very emotional child. My parents never were one to stop me from feeling them. The outside world on the other hand did not agree with this parenting tactic. So for all my mother’s efforts to make me emotionally mature, the populace had other machinations. And they will do everything to make sure they perpetuate the myth that everyone will and should fit into a mold.

As I grew up, my peers and mentors would tell me that I was being too emotional or over-dramatic. Whatever I felt or expressed was brushed aside. As a result, I chose to hide my feelings instead while suffering in silence. Regardless of my attempt my body refused to hide anything. It manifested as something else. Always. I imagine it is the same for most people. It’s why some turn to addictive substances. It’s numbing. Only then can we ‘fit.’

In the early days of dating my husband, I was already spiraling into alcohol addiction. He saw it VERY clearly. He even made a deal with me that if I stopped drinking, so would he. So, I got sober. However, without recognizing the trauma I was drinking to escape I instead to turned to sex. Having a chemical dispenser in my head, ever at the ready to dole out my own make of dopamine, was much easier to conceal and carry out.

This behavior was my husbands and my biggest hurtle. I regret so much of my past and how much I hurt him with the lies… He’s forgiven me but I can’t. I don’t like that I ever betrayed his trust.

This is the moment where I realize that this is why I write. I clack out my thought because I have all of these “big emotions” that society otherwise would tell me I’m being annoying or I need to get over. Here, on this blank page, I get to be myself. I can share on an open platform where someone, just maybe someone, will read it and I will be validated. I realized this last piece today. Finally all the points connected and I understood.

All it took was my husband dying.

So many people have graciously given me the space to share my emotions. Ones in which I thought I did not feel. Every day I worried I was some kind of monster, as if I was happy he was gone. Even though I know that is absolutely not the case. It is just that I have spent my entire life pretending to have no emotions because I was “too much” for some. And obviously I wasn’t meant to be around them, because the people who genuinely care about you will not feel that way.

When I hide my emotions they always, ALWAYS manifest as anger. Absolutely every time. Boys/Men are allowed to have anger. Anything else is unacceptable. The biggest flaw in that, especially with me, is as someone who feels things deeply my rage is worse. It’s compounded with my anguish/sadness/grief with the anger I feel with all of those in my past that told me I was too much and at society for forcing me to be a “man.” What was just a small fire has turned into an inferno.

The one person who understood all of this about me, who let me have my fits of rage, with patience, sympathy and grace, is gone. I am once again left to handle all of my feelings alone, or in blog posts, because I will always fear isolating myself with my feelings.

Merry Christmas.

December 21, 2024

For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me because I never really “missed” someone. Not in the sense that their absence caused me pain. I would miss things I once did or situations but people was not one of them. This feeling was made worse because the moment my husband would leave me he would text and ask “miss me?” I didn’t. I never missed him. I rationalized it that I knew he was coming back. Once he returned I would be just as content as if he wasn’t with me.

Some time in the past couple years I learned that this is a trait of ADHD. We don’t miss people like neurotypical people.

I say all that to say that I miss my husband. Immensely. It’s not an obvious thought it’s more in the little things, like when all I want to do is to talk to him.

I know that at this point I’m just a broken record. I will make the same complaints now that I will in a few months because this missing piece is just not coming back. I will try to replace it but nothing can or will ever replace the giant hole he left in my life. He was a huge presence.

With the holidays I feel this more and more. I’m stressing about money like I never have before, and all that does is make me think of my husband. I was the irresponsible one who spent like it was going out of style, but here I am taking up the mantle.

Today I am just filled with irritable rage. Everything and everyone infuriates me. Even being alone makes me angry. Nothing can appease the emotions bubbling inside my chest.