I’ll admit it’s been many years since I read Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross, and that I no longer consider myself any variety of Christian. I’m using the idea more metaphorically than literally.

Also, the photo in the featured image is older. I no longer have that hair color. But it fit the mood much more suitably than any more recent photographs. I delved through my Instagram looking for it specifically. I was feeling very goth the night I took it, listening to October Noir, wearing my darkest, moodiest tie-dye.

For the uninitiated, I offer a link to their cover of “Wicked Game.”

Now, I have my latest goth playlist going, but I’m wearing the “Always Grateful” tee that feels almost ironic. Let me explain.

In the interest of sincerity: I had some intense thoughts last night about how nothing I do matters, that no one seems to understand the way I feel things. It’s not often that someone simply says, “Wow, that sucks. I can see where that would really hurt.”

Generally, there may be a brief acknowledgement of my pain, but sometimes not even that, before they rush me toward a more rational way of viewing the situation. Which leaves me feeling as if my thoughts, my emotions, my essence of self, is just wrong. Even if I know that DBT teaches we are not our thoughts or our feelings.

Then WTF are we? The observing self that persists as all these things come and go, I know, but I find that level of detachment from the intermittent cloud storms of thought and emotion very, very difficult.

I don’t need anyone to play Devil’s Advocate with me or shepherd me toward a more balanced outlook, making me feel like the problem in the process. I’m not entirely sure what a better response would even look like, beyond maybe someone just holding space with me, and acknowledging the hurt.

Last night, this all started with the merest shadow of a possibility that maybe kiddo can’t come as scheduled, depending on work, and developed further from there, as she and I texted about it.

Maybe it’s unfair or unhealthy to hinge my well-being on the knowledge that she’ll be here in less than a month, but there you have it. It’s a huge deal to me to get to see her again for my birthday, to the point that I don’t know if I want to celebrate it at all if she can’t be here. What’s the effing point?

I’d probably still keep that day requested off, and just sulk at home.

I’ve waited so long already!

She’s my only child, and I only get to see her once a year. Or at least that’s how it’s been for the past 3 years, since she moved away. We did an early Christmas together the first year, but otherwise, it’s been swapping birthdays.

So many occasions missed.

Holidays typically spent with family.

And events like art shows and concerts and such.

And just day-to-day moments like running through drive-thru together, or going for a drive and listening to music together, like we used to.

The loss is like an unhealed wound.

I would never want to jeopardize her happiness or impinge on her freedom or cost her her livelihood. But I need to take care of myself, too, and I struggle with that. A lot. Likely more than I should.

Anyway I just wanted to be upfront about all that.

I have had some very difficult days and nights recently, feeling like life isn’t worth it, no hope in sight, no sense of direction, not much progress made on care tasks at home in spite of my extra fancy magnets for visual and auditory motivation.

Struggling with personal hygiene again, because I guess I’m too depressed at times to care. It’s a red letter day if I shower and wash my face and brush my hair and teeth, though it’s a little easier to do most if not all of that heading into a work day, since I know my appearance is more important then.

Been in contact with the Crisis Center here and there. That’s been helpful. But I guess I still don’t have any tangible sense of why I’m still here now that she’s gone. Waiting out the spiraling end of my family of origin, being here for them, and them in turn for me. But that seems to be about it.

I have some friends here, but I don’t see them as often as I would like. Everyone has lives of their own, and jobs, etc.

Kiddo tried to tell me your life doesn’t have to have any sort of grand meaning. Maybe it just is. But that doesn’t feel like enough for me.

I have my writing, and my art. I guess that’s what’s keeping me afloat, when it does, but I’ve been having a hard time working up motivation for creativity at times, too, and coping with burn-out. And I suppose I’ve been ruminating about a lot of friendships that have drifted away, and thinking about the past. Mourning my losses. Missing younger versions of myself.

The music persists, however, taking me back in time, allowing me to revisit my wild 20’s and 30’s. And let’s not forget the wonder of Halloween…

I swear I’m trying. It just feels like I’m failing.

Alright. I’m gonna finish having my late breakfast, and see what I can do with the rest of the day. I have plans to Zoom with a friend later, so that should be helpful.

Peace out.