Things Fall Apart

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As far as triumphant returns go, this one probably won’t go down in the history books. John Travolta, reviving a fading career with Pulp Fiction? That was impressive. Aragorn, returning to the throne in the nick of time to save Middle Earth? That was impressive. Odysseus, cruising back into town after a decade of fighting monsters? That was impressive, at least once folks heard what he’d been up to, fighting monsters and Sirens and such. Plus I think there was some confusion over Odysseus’ identity. Only his dog recognized him, if I recall.

Me, blogging again after a few months’ silence? Might not have the same dramatic impact. For one thing, there have been no Cyclops sightings around here. The reasons for my absence do not involve the slaying of mythical beasts.

Still though, I’ve got a decent excuse, if you want to hear it. Makes for a good story—a sad, miserable, multiple-hankie story, but if you’re looking for epic drama, I’ve got a decent offering.

So back in May I met a guy. He stumbled across this here blog, dropped me an email, and started a relationship—not that we realized that right away, of course. He lived in Canada, mind, but distance doesn’t make a lot of difference when both parties are good writers. Between emails, chats, and reallllllly long webcam conversations, he and I wandered into the land of internet dating.

Best relationship of my life, folks.

Maybe someday, if anyone’s interested, I’ll talk about it. Right now I won’t, because it still hurts too much, though it means the narrative is going to suffer. If I were telling the story properly, I’d offer evidence as to why this was the most satisfying relationship I’d ever enjoyed, instead of making you take it on faith.

Eh. Sorry.

So things were swimming along, despite being three time zones and two countries apart. And then he invites me up to visit—not just for any old reason, but to be his guest at the wedding of his best friend.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“You really, really sure?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

I purchased my plane ticket for $642. Three weeks later, he dumps me.

Well, hello, Debilitating Depression! Long time no see!

That’s why I haven’t been writing. I’m depressed.

A little background here: Near as I can figure, I’ve always been depressed. I think I was born with it. I live with depression every day. Years ago, when I was diagnosed with depression, I was actually surprised; it had never occurred to me that my default state of being was unhealthy. I had figured that’s what everyone’s mental state was like.

Before you ask: I’ve tried counseling. I’ve tried prescription drugs. None of it works for me. Sucks, but that’s the way of it. I’ve learned to manage from day to day. Haven’t had much choice in the matter, see?

But there’s chronic, daily depression, and then again there’s Big Nasty Invasive depression. That’s where I am now, and it isn’t pretty.

Let’s turn this into a Top Ten list, shall we? Lists are fun.

Top Ten Reasons Jessica is Severely Depressed

1. My plane ticket. I can’t sell it. I can’t get my money back. I have two options: I can sit by and watch that $642 slide right down the drain. Or, for a fee of $180, I can redeem my credit with the airline… which would be okay, I guess, but then what would I do with it? Fly someplace and sleep on the streets? Where, exactly, am I supposed to find the money to finance a vacation?

2. Speaking of money, I don’t have enough of it. I have a master’s degree in my chosen profession, but it’s not paying the bills. I’m paying back student loans (to pay for the master’s degree in my chosen profession; this is what we call “irony”), I’m paying rent, I’m paying for gas and food, and I’m being a total tightwad about everything else, but it’s still not cutting it.

3. No, really, I’m being a total tightwad. You won’t find me eating out, not anymore. And I’ve stopped going to yoga.

4. Yes. You heard me. I’ve stopped going to yoga. I can’t afford it. Plus I’m too grumpy to want to be around other people.

5. Doesn’t help that I had to buy new tires. $527 or so, that was.

5.a. I’d sell my car, if I could, but public transportation around here sucks. I wouldn’t be able to and from work. The closer library, yeah, I could walk to that one, but not the further library.

6. None of my bras fit. What with my recent weight loss (which still finds me as single as ever), I am left with four bras that don’t fit ($86 a pop, those were) and zero bras that do fit. I would get new bras, but the manufacturer stopped making that style. (Which is why I had stocked up on bras, d’you see?) Mail-order attempts to find a new bra that fits have failed.

7. I’m really quite tired of living here. The weather is too hot and I don’t fit in. Having recently done a fair bit of research about moving to Canada, I’ve decided that I would like to move to that country, despite its being home to one very unpleasant citizen who, by rights, should send me a check for six hundred and forty-two dollars American. But because I don’t have any money, I am stuck here—a realization that only serves to mire me further in depression.

8. I stare at a computer all day. Then, when I get home, I stare at a computer all night. This is affecting my vision, rapidly. The new lenses I got back in February need to be replaced already. The headaches that accompany my eyestrain only sweeten the deal. But my insurance only covers one eye visit per year.

9. Why do I stare at a computer when I get home? Well, for one thing, there’s the chapter I’m working on. It was due on October 1st. Well, it was due on September 1st, but I got an extension. Missed that second deadline, too. My sterling record of always getting things done on time has shattered.

9.a. But don’t worry, I’ll finish it soon. I simply have to, because I can’t get started on my book revisions till I get the chapter out of the way. Remember the book I’m working on? The horrible awful project whose existence I have cursed into oblivion? My curses are remarkably ineffective, because the manuscript has NOT taken up residence in oblivion. It has instead settled itself firmly in the front of my psyche, reminding me, nonstop, that final revisions are due on the first of December.

10. Which, okay, is not very fun to think about, but should be doable, right? With weekends and evenings, I should be able to pull off the chapter and the book, provided I can muster the energy and spirit to work on them. Except that I have just signed away my free time. I’ve decided to take a second job.

Well, it’s really more of a third job. First job is at the library, second job involves writing professional articles (and chapters, and books), and now I’ve taken a third job because the first two together don’t pay the bills. I’ll be working at a used bookstore in town.

Totally sucks that I have to take on yet more employment, but on the bright side, I won’t be flipping burgers. I’ll be working with books. I figure I’m qualified.

So there we have it, a perfectly miserable Jessica. I’m depressed. I’m withdrawn, moreso than usual I mean, and I’ve found myself prone to irrational anger. I’m struggling to get through each day. I am profoundly unhappy, and I have no energy or enthusiasm—though, to my credit, I am faking it well enough at work. (There’s a very good reason for this. Losing my job on top of everything else would just compound problems.) I recuperate by going home and doing as little as humanly possible.

11. (I am taking liberties with the word “ten” in my “Top Ten” list, sorry about that). You’ll have noticed, I’m single again. There’s generally how I am, but this time it’s different. Before, I didn’t know what I was missing. Now I know what it’s like to date
someone who makes me happy.

To be sure, the person in this case totally screwed me over. “You got fucked without getting kissed,” to paraphrase a sympathetic listener. Regardless, for a brief while, I started to see what the big deal is all about, what with relationships and all.

Enough with this Happy Single Woman schtick. It rankles my independent pride to admit to this, but yeah, it’s NICE to be in a good relationship. It’s preferable. Being alone and unloved sucks.

Being alone and unloved seems to be the natural order of the universe, unfortunately, and that’s what’s really got me down, more than everything else I’ve kvetched about here. Grown adult I may be, but I’m still the kid who gets picked last for the team.

Wretched, painfully single, broke, overworked and underpaid, stressed, poor vision (but with new tires!), wearing bras the don’t fit, irritable, weepy, sad, and with a plane ticket to nowhere—that’s me these days. But hey, I’m blogging again. If morbid curiosity compels you to read more of this misery, check back sometime next week.


3 responses »

  1. welcome back, every negative has a positive. so you should have a lot to look forward to:)

  2. Eeemosenary Archivist

    Hey,Jess:Rumor has it that Hank Williams,Jr is playing at a nearby venue Monday;you can probably catch it on the internet since his backup group are running for office.A rousing rendition of his dad’s classic "Your Cheating Heart" might provide a temporary lift{without buyin new undergarments!}ps:keep the ticket valid! out-4-now.Carry on M’dame.tgb/EA

  3. I’ll have to share my fun online dating experiences with you sometime… just not when you’re eating. D:


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