It’s been over two months since my last confession and the gravity of what has now become of my life has started to set in. I should’ve languished more in the afterglow of what was a truly remarkable end of June and the entirety of July because August has brought with it the parts of life that can make one struggle to wonder about why we must suffer the dysfunction and deficiencies of the human condition. “All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air…”
I got home today and cried. My home, not my own, my surroundings old and still new. How much I have fallen. How much I feel defeated. I mentioned this to my mother, who was busy in her own concerns and projects. I said this, day two of having now moved in with my parents. How the mighty have fallen. My home office, a sitting room with no doors, an anguish that has had over a year to build up. The most educated, the most accomplished, reduced to having no place to call my own, no privacy, no peace. A constant stab to the heart, the breaking a part of my mental stability and health.
In these very moments, the successes of the past few months are diminished. My energies and optimism now fully sapped from my body. My outlook is grim. I labor to breathe. Labor in speaking. Finding momentary reprieve when I thought of writing. Momentary.
I missed my submission deadline today for the newspaper. I’ve often contemplated ending that activity altogether. It’s hard to be optimistic when the circumstances of life crush your spirit, robs you of your dreams, tells you you’re not enough, reminds you of how insignificant your singular problems are. When I thought I’d hit rock bottom, I found that there was still much further to fall.
Now is the time to buy a new home – if you can qualify for a mortgage. We cannot. Paying for a mortgage is less than paying for rent and yet I am paralyzed by debt. Unable to breathe. Unable to find a place of relief. I sat, defeated on the floor of the small bedroom that my husband and I will now share. Tired. Still missing my grandmother. Unable to talk about her almost a year since her passing away without crying.
So much positive derailed by very gut-wrenching lows. Pulled in many different directions and still no place to unwind. Depressed. Poor. Exhausted. Defeated.