Skydiving
Nose-diving?
How many times have you considered suicide today?
Me?
One.
Getting into my car.
Reflecting, it's been about once a day, usually on an over-pass, so that's not so bad. I feel that I am destined to die in my car. It's a gnawing ache of destiny every time I drive.
Now. Now. Do it now. Blood and bent metal!! Do it now!
Today there just happened to be a pulsing in my head, and I had considered, right before opening the car door, whether if I focused hard enough I could collapse my brain. Just let out all the sad hot air- the soft hiss of a balloon undone by a pin would escape me and I could fold with an unnatural grace toward the cool pebbled walkway. But I know I could never summon up that focus. If I could focus that hard I probably wouldn't have the problems that caused the headache.
I am starting to feel that my ambitions are slipping away. I don't think I can be funny. I don't know why I ever thought that.
I woke up from a dream that somehow Hillary had pulled ahead, miraculously- and we all sighed with relief at how close we had come to doing something that seemed so ridiculous and illogical. We could all move forward now. The angry white voices heard, we could focus on education reform and building new industry so that they wouldn't feel left out. We all knew that their industry wasn't coming back. We were sorry we didn't know they didn't know and couldn't adapt. And then, after sitting with myself for a few minutes, I checked my phone to see if my dream could be verified. I held my breath and scanned Facebook, because I wasn't brave enough for Google.
I let that breath go, and it seems with it went any latent happiness that I might have been keeping underneath the clinical distress. With it went my dreams and the feasibility of my ambitions. Now I was suddenly racing another market fall when considering the jobs I was applying to. I probably shouldn't allow myself to be so picky anymore- to look for something that might make me feel good instead of just keeping my debt afloat.
I just want to crack jokes, but I don't think I ever knew how. I can't imagine what made things okay before that moment when I found out Hillary lost. I had such a loose relationship with reality already, now it seems so impossible. I am just falling, and there are clear footholds and bars I could grab, but I have no idea how. I'm slipping by them too fast. I'm sure this is what white working class America felt like, but I have heard several times, by stronger more learned voices than mine, that this is a feeling my kind had been battling long before their industry declined. They were starting to understand life as a minority. Life on the fringe. And because they had lived on the inside before they were much angrier and felt more entitled.
Now there are tons of think pieces about people who are women and of color unapologetically voted for Trump. Think pieces about how Millennials didn't turn out in big enough numbers combined with the whining voices of a generation explaining that they understood how qualified Hillary was, but she just wasn't likable. There are think pieces where people pretend to be confused by how we could have gotten to this point. There are think pieces about how Bernie Sanders could have won, and, truly, Democrats only have themselves to blame.
There are so many think pieces and I find it so hard to just think.
I feel like I should go to the doctor while I can. Maybe if I tried to get medication again I would feel better- for the month that they were covered...but I'm afraid of Dr. Nguyen now. It's been too long and she would be disappointed. Austin has a laughably long wait list for most psychiatrists- (psychologists?)- so I don't think I would be able to get in with another one soon enough. I thought reading more would boost my creativity but I think I'm just being buried under the words of the more creative, or at least more successful, and - so-
What now?
How many times have you considered suicide today?
Me?
One.
Getting into my car.
Reflecting, it's been about once a day, usually on an over-pass, so that's not so bad. I feel that I am destined to die in my car. It's a gnawing ache of destiny every time I drive.
Now. Now. Do it now. Blood and bent metal!! Do it now!
Today there just happened to be a pulsing in my head, and I had considered, right before opening the car door, whether if I focused hard enough I could collapse my brain. Just let out all the sad hot air- the soft hiss of a balloon undone by a pin would escape me and I could fold with an unnatural grace toward the cool pebbled walkway. But I know I could never summon up that focus. If I could focus that hard I probably wouldn't have the problems that caused the headache.
I am starting to feel that my ambitions are slipping away. I don't think I can be funny. I don't know why I ever thought that.
I woke up from a dream that somehow Hillary had pulled ahead, miraculously- and we all sighed with relief at how close we had come to doing something that seemed so ridiculous and illogical. We could all move forward now. The angry white voices heard, we could focus on education reform and building new industry so that they wouldn't feel left out. We all knew that their industry wasn't coming back. We were sorry we didn't know they didn't know and couldn't adapt. And then, after sitting with myself for a few minutes, I checked my phone to see if my dream could be verified. I held my breath and scanned Facebook, because I wasn't brave enough for Google.
I let that breath go, and it seems with it went any latent happiness that I might have been keeping underneath the clinical distress. With it went my dreams and the feasibility of my ambitions. Now I was suddenly racing another market fall when considering the jobs I was applying to. I probably shouldn't allow myself to be so picky anymore- to look for something that might make me feel good instead of just keeping my debt afloat.
I just want to crack jokes, but I don't think I ever knew how. I can't imagine what made things okay before that moment when I found out Hillary lost. I had such a loose relationship with reality already, now it seems so impossible. I am just falling, and there are clear footholds and bars I could grab, but I have no idea how. I'm slipping by them too fast. I'm sure this is what white working class America felt like, but I have heard several times, by stronger more learned voices than mine, that this is a feeling my kind had been battling long before their industry declined. They were starting to understand life as a minority. Life on the fringe. And because they had lived on the inside before they were much angrier and felt more entitled.
Now there are tons of think pieces about people who are women and of color unapologetically voted for Trump. Think pieces about how Millennials didn't turn out in big enough numbers combined with the whining voices of a generation explaining that they understood how qualified Hillary was, but she just wasn't likable. There are think pieces where people pretend to be confused by how we could have gotten to this point. There are think pieces about how Bernie Sanders could have won, and, truly, Democrats only have themselves to blame.
There are so many think pieces and I find it so hard to just think.
I feel like I should go to the doctor while I can. Maybe if I tried to get medication again I would feel better- for the month that they were covered...but I'm afraid of Dr. Nguyen now. It's been too long and she would be disappointed. Austin has a laughably long wait list for most psychiatrists- (psychologists?)- so I don't think I would be able to get in with another one soon enough. I thought reading more would boost my creativity but I think I'm just being buried under the words of the more creative, or at least more successful, and - so-
What now?
Comments
Post a Comment