Recently, I have never begging for normal more in the past two months than even my lowest of lows. If one’s life is past upon experience and stretching the outer reaches of emotions without breaking, I have pulled that rubber band back as far it will go for maximum sling. Or a sharp snap.
Work life, home life, parent life, social life, all-consuming with only brief interludes of silence, just enough to recharge the dead battery so the next step can be taken towards graduation. More work, more involved at home, being a dad instead of dude behind a laptop, and double-fisting Captain and Cokes because there’s no reason to sit on the sidelines anymore.
Be happy scares me more than sitting in a dark corner combing through the day, the week, the lifetime trying to find meaning when I can’t sleep because the constant re-evaluating of my life. Is going through this stressful time worth the college degree? What is my marriage going to look like afterwards? Will I continue to try to be a better dad/husband/friend/son? What is this receipt to SexWorld doing in my pocket?
People don’t understand you. They never will. There’s no book, no psych course, no spouse/friend/parent that will ever understand you and why you’re standing in front of a mirror at 5:13am half-naked with Crest with whitening power dribbling down the right side of your lips. However, they can help pull a person into a better state of mind. At least that’s what I tell myself daily, stop fucking with my own head, and just do. For years and even now, I still believe my disability is the reason why people treat me the way they do. As sort of a loyal dog that will never bite no matter how many times kids pull on its ears or forget to feed it.
Even at work where I do well enough to get praise, it seems fake, only patting my head “GOOD JOB BOY!” because I am an employee tax deduction due to my inability to shape noises into conversation. Just once I would like to kick the piss out of the cynic in me and throw him into the woodchipper ala Fargo. Just once I would like to hear “Excellent job on fixing that dispute!” instead of “I’m only saying this because I need more from you”.
That’s my problem.
Because I sit today 116 days from my unicorn, my Eleanor if you will. My daydreams of held back tears. My piece of paper that cost north of $46K and some priceless sanity to get. And while it will be a grand relief to get free time back, I will need to fill it because that cynic will have more time to think again and open its mouth wider than before.
Then again, I have all the people surrounding me that would tell that cynic to fuck off and buy me a drink to discuss why Taylor Swift should cross her legs more and stop whining about her boyfriends through multi-million dollar screeching. I hope to see those people again sooner than later.