Well tickityfuckityboo. Blah. Bollox.
I’ve had a shitty day, which probably serves me right for being all “Ooh, look at me, I’m so awesome, I made it through my depression and I can show you all how to be as great as me”. I’m so full of crap.
Shut the front door. Ah fuck it, I’m not in the mood to watch my language – shut the fuck up.
I’m so fucking annoyed. At least I think I’m annoyed. or maybe I’m fed up, or disillusioned, or tired.
I shouldn’t be – I have reminded myself that I am lucky. I have plenty. I am not a Syrian refugee. I am not an Afghan boy. I am not a young homeless mother.
I have much to be thankful for but forcefully reinserting the gratitude alarm into my consciousness has not helped today and of course, then I feel even more guilty than before because I am, in fact, an ungrateful, greedy, selfish waste of space who can’t even.. who can’t even what? That’s it: I. Can’t. Even.
I should be back at work. We can’t go on without the security of a predetermined paycheque. I’m tired of struggling over a budget, trying to wrangle more time out of my creditors and having to ask the cashier to stop at forty six euro and sixty cents while ringing up my groceries because I only have forty seven euro and seven of that is in change so “can I split it between cash and card please and leave those other items behind?”
Why is today a bad day when all the other days have been good? Is it purely circumstantial because we’re broke or is it because I’ve been reminded that I haven’t worked in a year and I’m still, effectively, a bit useless? I couldn’t even buy my daughter pretzels in Lidl, for god’s sake.
And the fucking nightmares.
I’ve really been trying to get my new venture off the ground – I’ve worked hard at it and I’m excited about it but it will be a long time before I make more than it costs to drive to the venue and buy supplies. I really want to be working. I know there’s no way I’m ready for a five day week, which makes me feel like a cheat but I’ve carried out much internal research into this and I know that put me back into a fully operating school and you’ll be clearing up a Dotty shaped puddle of tears and vomit after twenty minutes.
Yes, I have support from my family and my Department of Social Protection (who, while they get a bad rep, have actually been helpful to me). Of course, then I think “Shit, maybe I’m wasting the resources that could go to one of those poor homeless people!” and I sink into a dismal well of self reproach and I want to sit there, at the bottom of that well, and let the world forget about me and go about its business of caring for the deserved poor.
It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow and seeing as I ruined last year’s, I need to get my shit together so I don’t wreck this one. Luckily she already knows I have no money to buy her a present.
Mantra: When you can’t hold on, just hold on.