The alarm goes off. I snooze it for 10 minutes. I fall back into the dream. The dream where the children hate me. I’m a terrible nanny. I wonder when the parents will fire me. The alarm goes off. I hit snooze again for 10 minutes. I’m back in the dream, the children still hate me, I’m still an anxious, depressed mess. The alarm goes off. I hit snooze for 15 minutes. Hoping for more time, more time to find a better dream, a more restful sleep. The alarm goes off again, I give in to the morning. It’s 11am. I lie awake and look at all of the social media posts from people talking about how age has affected them. Here’s a photo from 2009, and here’s one from 2019. I dread to look at any photo I have from 2009. I dread to look at any photo but a recent one. I won’t do the challenge.
Leo meows from the living room, asking for me, or so I imagine. I have just enough energy to meow a soft croaky meow back and I hear his claws clicking on the hard floor as he makes his way into the bedroom. Meows again, in a greeting, and pops up onto the bed and lays on top of me. His head by my shoulder, the purring is soothing. I start to tear up, and instead give him a pet with my free hand and continue scrolling through social media. More posts, some wholesome, some just there. Politics are sprinkled into my feeds like sprinkles on mashed potatoes. Weird, out of place, though its presence is apparent and distinct. It can also ruin the potatoes.
I have to pee, so I get up. I’ve been out of toilet paper for the past three days, and quite frankly, I’m running out of paper products. My cat meows at me and brings me to the kitchen his food dish is low and mainly crumbs so I fill it. He eats. I stare blankly at my kitchen, my stomach growling. I run through the options of food in my head and decide not yet. I don’t have the motivation nor the appetite yet. I look at the puzzle on my dining room table. Pieces strewn about though coming together. It’s just the middle that needs to be filled. I work on it again, trying to ease my troubled mind. Instead I am filled with all of the thoughts I’ve been trying to hold at bay. Worry. Anxiety. Depression. All major themes. How am I going to pay all of my bills this month? How much longer can I live off of a meager savings account? I can’t afford the health insurance the marketplace gave me. Health insurance.. something that helps so little for my needs. No out-of-network mental health benefits. Sure it is covered, except that it’s not. Here are more bills that insurance was going to cover, but didn’t. And when people ask me if I can work all day, I have to say yes. This is why I say yes to every opportunity. Even when my mental health suffers from it, and in turn, physical. Tears form and brim over my eyelids, I move so that they won’t fall unto the puzzle. I go back to bed.
Laying there I go back to social media. Trying to distract yet again. Ads remind me, the crushing weight of it all is felt in my chest. My cat comes again, this time hopping up and setting himself on the pillow next to me, gently tapping me with his paw for pets. If you asked how many times I thought of suicide in the first hour I was awake today, I’d be scared to tell you. My cat single-handedly prevents me from indulging any of these recurring thoughts. They pass by as best they can like logs on a river. As long as I am home, he keeps them at bay by just being him.
I open my laptop, check my email, go back on social media. My mind in tune to the pain I feel in my body. The tiredness I feel in my bones. The sadness I feel in my soul. It’s noon.
I tear up again. I try not to think about half of my last day off is being wasted away. I try not to think about the stress of this week, of working again, and feeling like no matter how much I work, I’ll never get anywhere. The suffocation of stagnation is overwhelming. I feel like I can’t breathe. Every distraction I indulge in gives me moments of free.
I lay there, in tune, to what is and what isn’t. My stomach gnaws. Nearly hungry enough to get up, but not yet.
A twitter post about writer’s quotes talks about writing through the pain. That the best writing comes when you pour out your hurt, fears, and worries. When they can manifest on page and have room to be experienced. I haven’t left the bed yet, but I did reopen my laptop. I opened this up, and I wrote. What’s there is there, and what isn’t is not. That’s all there can be, and I’m okay with this thought. What a rhyme.. I may have been sub-consciously doing this throughout, but I won’t know because I’m not going to edit/reread this.
Perhaps now I can make it up off of this bed, and go get some food so I can be fed. Now I am on a roll, what do I do??? This has brought a small inward smile, perhaps today won’t be so bad after all.
Best wishes to you all. As always, thank you for reading.