And I don’t mean the good funk either… I’m in a rut again. This is the first time in a while (I think?), so maybe there’s a hormonal explanation for this (I usually take my pills straight so as to miss the monthly “inclement weather,” but I told myself dreary weather four times a year shouldn’t be so bad. Well, welcome to the next rain!)
I find myself crying just at the thought of a disturbing news story. I come home and I’m suddenly exhausted, so beaten that I change into PJs and crawl into bed. All before 7 p.m. You see, this is not typical behavior for an “administrator” like me. In fact, this is unacceptable behavior and yet, I don’t care. It’s almost as if John and I have temporarily reversed roles. Except that I love my job. It’s just, with the traffic and the horrifying news– day in and day out– of more violence committed against women, I just feel sick. Sick of these people… and to even say “these” as if there really were a “them” vs. “us.” What a load of bullshit: Them = us. They are among us. Ugh, the world is sick, and I am so tired by it.
The story of Annie Le. How many times had I gone to the lab (in a newly constructed “secure” building)– on weekends, at night, early morning… that could have happened to anyone. I can’t stop thinking, wondering about her last moments. Everyday we engage with people: some whom we’ve known for decades, some for years, some for just days. Normally, just because I “know” these people, I assume they are good. I feel safe. That view is so wrong! The world disappoints. Who can be trusted, really? I feel so overwhelmed by negative thoughts and emotions. Distrust. Disgust. Disappointment. Hopelessness.
Like I recently found this local blogger who’s like living the life, traveling to NZ for 3 months then Europe for 1, going to live shows all the time… I wonder, how the hell is she affording all this (she’s unemployed)? Then I see links to couchsurfing on her blog. Now how the fuck am I going to couchsurf when I’m starting to look at just ordinary people on the street, at the store, with suspicion? The fear is building and however inconvenient, it is paralyzing me. Fuck, am I going to have to go to therapy again? Seriously, annoying, debilitating, bullshit.
Last time, my therapist said I should restrict exposure to things that trouble me. But I want to know what happens in the Jaycee Duggard case. And I want to know what happens with the Yale student autopsy and the suspect in custody. It’s as if knowing what happens offers hope for some resolution or vengeance or SOMEthing, because how can this be? How can people honestly be so fucked up?