(no subject)
SOMETIMES I WISH I FELT LIKE I LIVED A MORE PRODUCTIVE AND LESS SAPPY MOPEY CONSTANTLY WITH A COLD EXISTENCE. IS IT JUNE YET JFC.
lakeg;lakerhgt;lakerjta;ierthgojt spaaaaaaiiiiin. DDDDD:
obviously, i'm at work. and this is the longest day ever.
working as a caregiver is good work, i think. i like its pace and personality and i don't even mind the shit, literally, that sometimes accompanies it. i can think and make personal progress as well as professional progress, and i get to spend time with my family, and more importantly, cousins, who are like best friends and sisters and perfect fucked up people all rolled into these beautiful ladies. all of this is really nice.
but.
i am almost ashamed to admit this. i don't know where it came from, really, but christmas night i spent the night at my cousins and being there, i had to help out with one of the ladies, and that was no problem. this lady, though, she's close to the end and all, all stiff joints and no control of her body and you can't even be too sure that what you're saying registers well with her half of the time, and so i always approach her delicately. gentle and thorough because i hate when i hear stories of nearly dead elderly being neglected. just take your goddamn time and take care of the people who have lived and created lives and now they can't even get out of bed to live like they used to and it's not fucking easy for them to be dying you assholes. fuck, anyway, tangent and that's not the point.
but maybe it was some combination of being overly tired and some champagne from earlier, but it made me feel so sick to my stomach i had to step out of the room. for modesty's sake, i won't clarify what it is, but in general, i'm not bothered by bodies. the wearing down process and aging and bed sores and diapers and dying is something i've been exposed to my entire life, and i get that it's just a part of life and i get annoyed when i hear about my job being gross. we are not fucking vampires, and there is no living forever, and botox is gross, etc.
all of a sudden, though, i didn't understand what i was doing there. i wanted to run the fuck out of town, plant my feet somewhere new and start over. i love my family and it's a good place to be while i'm figuring my shit out, but everything fell apart for maybe a split second and i couldn't take it. and then it always goes from being one little thing that just got to me to suddenly everything i'm trying to compartmentalize and deal with as separate issues, one thing at a time, all breaking loose and all hell running rampant through my insides and i'm back to anxiety attacks and nightmares and barely breathing.
and as much as i don't want to admit it, i still can't shake the feeling of wanted to get out of here. out of this routine and away from people who are going to hold me accountable for my shit and tell me over and over to deal with it and move on, make some progress. it's not that i don't want to do those things, i really fucking do.
i want my life on my own terms, in my own space. i want to face what i want to face on my own time. i don't want to drive down the street and see fifteen different places i know i can't go into without wanting to break down in the doorway. grocery stores should not be threatening. i am tired of feeling haunted. this isn't a way to live. suddenly my job isn't even just my job anymore.
i feel like i've got something to prove to everyone around me. but i don't. i don't have or want to prove anything to anyone. i don't want to make excuses. i don't want to hear subtle judgments in passing.
i need time. i would just like some time.
lakeg;lakerhgt;lakerjta;ierthgojt spaaaaaaiiiiin. DDDDD:
obviously, i'm at work. and this is the longest day ever.
working as a caregiver is good work, i think. i like its pace and personality and i don't even mind the shit, literally, that sometimes accompanies it. i can think and make personal progress as well as professional progress, and i get to spend time with my family, and more importantly, cousins, who are like best friends and sisters and perfect fucked up people all rolled into these beautiful ladies. all of this is really nice.
but.
i am almost ashamed to admit this. i don't know where it came from, really, but christmas night i spent the night at my cousins and being there, i had to help out with one of the ladies, and that was no problem. this lady, though, she's close to the end and all, all stiff joints and no control of her body and you can't even be too sure that what you're saying registers well with her half of the time, and so i always approach her delicately. gentle and thorough because i hate when i hear stories of nearly dead elderly being neglected. just take your goddamn time and take care of the people who have lived and created lives and now they can't even get out of bed to live like they used to and it's not fucking easy for them to be dying you assholes. fuck, anyway, tangent and that's not the point.
but maybe it was some combination of being overly tired and some champagne from earlier, but it made me feel so sick to my stomach i had to step out of the room. for modesty's sake, i won't clarify what it is, but in general, i'm not bothered by bodies. the wearing down process and aging and bed sores and diapers and dying is something i've been exposed to my entire life, and i get that it's just a part of life and i get annoyed when i hear about my job being gross. we are not fucking vampires, and there is no living forever, and botox is gross, etc.
all of a sudden, though, i didn't understand what i was doing there. i wanted to run the fuck out of town, plant my feet somewhere new and start over. i love my family and it's a good place to be while i'm figuring my shit out, but everything fell apart for maybe a split second and i couldn't take it. and then it always goes from being one little thing that just got to me to suddenly everything i'm trying to compartmentalize and deal with as separate issues, one thing at a time, all breaking loose and all hell running rampant through my insides and i'm back to anxiety attacks and nightmares and barely breathing.
and as much as i don't want to admit it, i still can't shake the feeling of wanted to get out of here. out of this routine and away from people who are going to hold me accountable for my shit and tell me over and over to deal with it and move on, make some progress. it's not that i don't want to do those things, i really fucking do.
i want my life on my own terms, in my own space. i want to face what i want to face on my own time. i don't want to drive down the street and see fifteen different places i know i can't go into without wanting to break down in the doorway. grocery stores should not be threatening. i am tired of feeling haunted. this isn't a way to live. suddenly my job isn't even just my job anymore.
i feel like i've got something to prove to everyone around me. but i don't. i don't have or want to prove anything to anyone. i don't want to make excuses. i don't want to hear subtle judgments in passing.
i need time. i would just like some time.