It’s too much. My brain can’t handle it.
That’s the only explanation that I can come up with. My brain keeps shutting down, blanking out. Either somebody will direct something toward me or something deep in the recesses of my darkened thought paths will spark and I realize I was stalled.
There’s just too much.
There’s the current political climate and all the fear that goes along with that, particularly when I see people who hate all that their office stands for being put in positions of leadership. There’s fear of being a woman in this world. There’s fear of what happens when all the good laws are being dismantled and trashed.
There’s the lack of money to do anything to better my situation. I can’t get interviews so I can’t get a job that pays more. I can’t take less because … I really don’t know how the hell we’re paying bills as it is. I can’t function in our 290ish square feet of home. I’m drowning in things and stuff. I have plans to make things from the supplies I have (and thus get it out of our space) but there’s so much stuff just … there. Which, if I say something then there’s hurt feelings. Yes, you cleaned a shelf and that’s helpful. But it doesn’t change that there’s still laundry to put away and a pile of dirty clothing plus a pile of fabric and two cubbies of stuff that needs to be sorted through so it will stop oozing thready goodness onto the floor for the cat to roll in. It doesn’t change that I don’t have a bathtub to soak away my pain in. It doesn’t help that I don’t have a kitchen to create in. I'm still stuck with a shower stall and a crockpot / microwave combo … and no room to add anything else.
There’s grief, so much damn grief. I don’t dare allow myself to feel the grief. I’ll never stop crying. Two beloved animals and two family members gone in eight months. Two of those lives I could see the end of, it was expected that eventually after a long life it would happen. Two of those were lives cut tragically short. I’m going to work to keep my mind busy during the day, to give me ways to clamp down the urge to cry. But it’s exhausting. By the time I get home I’m wrung out and limp. I look around at the clutter and the sheer amount of plans … and my brain goes dark. I sink into it.
The dark is so comforting. There’s nothingness. There’s quiet. Sometimes there’s Borderlands or hours of digital shows streaming. There’s nothing to require me to think, to feel, to process.
I nudge myself. There’s twitter, which is all political, on purpose. There’s facebook, a mix of politics, silly, friends, and family. I poke at both, trying to muster up the energy to care, to be active, to do something. It’s too much, overwhelming in the amount of feelings and fear. So I turn back to Instagram, my stream of yarn, delicious looking deserts, and rainbow hair pictures. It was my happy place. Now it’s just my this hurts less place. I close my mouth, no comments uttered.
I’ll come up out of these dark depths at some point. But right now it’s taking everything I have just to keep my head above water. If I open my mouth I just might drown.
*This is not intended as a cry for attention or help. I'm just a writer with a prompt working through some stuff, as you do.*