No good

What else will 2019 have in store? A promotion? New friends and/or lovers? Is it time for a new heartbreak, or maybe an old one? Will I finally utilize my extremely basic grasp of Tagalog?

Back in November, I was looking forward to 2019. I was full of excitement and hope about the new year.

After the holidays, it all went to hell.

The holidays themselves were mediocre. It was nice to see some family, very nice to see some old friends. I couldn’t seem to muster a particularly festive mood though, and I was glad to return to San Francisco.

But I had to get through New Year’s alone. I wasn’t in the mood for a party, but I also didn’t want to be alone. Being alone won out though. I figured that forcing myself to be social would make me feel worse than actually being alone. I like to think I made the correct choice for myself. I would have been more miserable and probably cried myself to sleep again.

January was painful. Far too much uncertainty and chaos. I don’t know how I made it through the month, all things considered. I’m being deliberately vague here. The details don’t really matter; just know that whatever safety I felt has shattered, as has my trust in someone.

I feel so lost. I’m trying to hold onto other friends to anchor myself, but my grasp is as tenuous as my resolve.

I write in hopes that getting my emotions down will help me process them. I write because I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being angry, of doing things just to numb myself.

It’s February now. I’m just trying to get through each day without despairing too much. Work has certainly been a saving grace; I can throw myself into the everyday intricacies of running a busy, medium-sized branch library. At work, I can feel productive, useful and valued. I am surrounded by a caring staff. At work, I have purpose and community.

Nine hours will fly by, then the dread of being alone with myself will set in on the bus ride home. What is it about being alone that bothers me so? It’s the emptiness. The lack of purpose or meaning to the passing hours. Everyday ordinary activities have no draw. I don’t care to eat, read, play video games, or do anything else I used to enjoy. As I’ve written before, a lot of self-care just feels so temporary too. I try taking long baths or showers, but I just end up crying there too. Or I might go get a manicure or a massage and I’m good for that hour or so. Sometimes, I’ll just wander the mall or Target until it gets too late.

But I still have to go home eventually, to myself and a cat I loathe.

I’ve always had issues with feeling alone. I’m so uneasy. I can’t express it very well. I just feel so empty. My friend asked me when was the last time I felt real joy, and I didn’t have a good answer. Maybe toward the beginning of my last partnership? If that’s the case, it’s been maybe 12 years. I’m just coasting, not really gaining any fulfillment or joy from anything I do.

One positive is that I have a handle on the more destructive aspects of my personality. I only drink socially, no longer binging at home alone. I don’t physically harm myself anymore. The desires are still there, but I haven’t indulged yet. Instead, I maniacally text friends or write pithy emails to my therapist. I guess you could argue I’m better off.

No one can save me. I can’t be rescued from myself. I can’t place my sense of safety and stability on any one person. Intellectually, I am aware of this. Somehow, it has to come from within, and I’ve been working on it for years. Focusing on the present seems to help, but when I start to think about the past or the future, I despair.

Again, I just get through each day. However, I do have a couple trips to look forward to: London + Paris in April, Ireland in May. The first trip will be with a friend, the second will be solo. I am a bit apprehensive about the second trip, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

I just lost steam, and interest, in writing more. Guess I’ll try to find something else to distract me until bedtime. Hopefully I will sleep tonight.

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