Araby
Because I don't need to hear that it's going to get better...
You're walking down a spiral staircase. It's rickety. Any time you step too hard or shift your weight suddenly, the whole thing shakes like it might fall. Maybe you're sure of yourself, so that's never a problem. Maybe you're a daredevil and you like it, you take two steps at a time and throw yourself against the railing. Maybe you're like me and kind of a klutz, you've fallen down just as many of the steps as you've walked down. And maybe, at some point, you've realized just how unstable the whole rig is. You can't go back up because then you're just stuck at the top, but it's still so far to the bottom. You're tripping over your feet and you never land quite right on the steps. So, you're thinking, maybe it'd just be better to hop over the side. Sure, it's a long fall, but you're not certain that the whole thing won't crash down anyway. It's a long fall, but it's only the one compared to the many you're certain to face if you keep on like you are. It's a long fall, but at least you'll be at the end. And really, when you're standing on such a shaky contraption, it's the most logical thing in the world to want to get off quickly.
My whole life, everyone's always told me to wait, it gets better. Middle school is so much better than elementary school. High school is when your life really begins. Everything comes together at sixteen. When you're eighteen you'll finally be free. Nothing really happens until college. In a minute. Maybe soon. Just wait. It's all about to happen.
I believed it all. I waited. I expected it to be better. I held my breath. I tried to make it better. I changed who I was so many times thinking I was the problem that kept things at a stand-still. And everything I did, every attempt I made to make "it" happen, to be happy, get married, get a dog, move out, be self sufficient, it's all led here. I'm ten again, sitting in the counselor's office while she tells me that I need to learn how to interact with the other kids. I'm twelve, coming home from school in tears every day for reasons I can't remember. I'm fourteen and thinking of changing my clothes, my music, my taste in everything just to have what people call friends. I'm sixteen and cutting myself wide open so I can keep those friends, no matter what it costs me. I'm eighteen and running back to mom when things don't work out the way I expected. I'm twenty and failing out of college. I'm twenty-two and failing out of marriage. I'm twenty-four and still failing.
"What do you intend do with a psychology degree?"
"Uh..."
"How are you going to make money if you major in art? Do plan to go into advertising?"
"No, I don't think so. I just wanted to be an artist."
"I see. Well, what are you going to do once you've got your associates in English? What will you do with a bachelors in music?"
"I don't know. What do people usually do with that?"
"They teach."
"Oh. I don't like crowds."
"Yes, I imagine you're not teaching material. You have to be able to hold a conversation."
"I'm sorry. I received a complaint. I need to let you go."
"I'm sorry. This is your third warning. I'm going to have to let you go."
"I'm sorry. You were late again. We've already got someone covering your shift."
"I'm sorry. She can work more hours than you can. January 6th will be your last day."
"Better luck next semester."
I worked with a guy who'd spent his whole life savings on his education. He had his degree in something that sounded marketable. For a living he organized DVD's. Alphabetically. For a little over $8/hr. Working the register next to me at Office Depot was a guy who'd studied to become a teacher. He couldn't get paid enough doing that so he worked retail. How, exactly, is college going to make my life easier? Which doors are going open and why didn't these other people go through them? What's the point?
"They want you medicated?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Uh..."
"You don't look depressed."
"Well, thank you."
"I don't feel like I can do anything."
"Then you can't. As long as you feel helpless, you'll be helpless."
And as he says this, it suddenly occurs to me that I've felt this way for a very long time. And that I'm not sure it will ever go away. I'm told that it will. That things will get better. Intellectually, I'm aware of that. I know things don't stay bad. I'm just suddenly wondering if they ever get good. Yes, I've been happy before. Yes, I know I'll be happy again. But what I don't know is if I'll ever feel better. It's not about being happy, it's about being okay. It's about being able too look at things and not have to dig your way through the stupid sludge in your brain to find the good parts. It's about believing what I already know. I don't need you to tell me them again, because it just makes me feel stupid for not believing it. I'm doing the fucking best I can and I'm always feeling like it will never be good enough. I will never be determined enough, smart enough, quick enough, professional, reliable, responsible, grown-up, organized, attentive, happy, content, stable, friendly, tough, sensitive enough, enough, enough, enough.
I went to the doctor today. He said, "You're attractive. You're 24. You've got your whole life ahead of you." I told him that was sort of the point. That's why I was there instead of somewhere else plotting my demise. Again. "But what," he said, "is wrong? What causes you to feel like this?" I told him I didn't know, and that was only half true. "You have not had your tetanus or flu shot! Why will you not get those? Have you ever seen someone die of tetanus?" I told him I hadn't and that I didn't really think any of that was relevant. I imagined myself crawling through a bed of rusty nails coated with influenza and decided I'd rather be doing that. "I'm going to prescribe prozac and something for anxiety. I want you to see you again in two weeks. Why in two weeks? Because. Do you know why people kill themselves after they've started medication?" I gave him an explanation of the brain chemistry and how it worked. He shook his head, "It's because their brain clears up. The meds clear their head and they decide to kill themselves anyway. I want to see you in two weeks." I wondered why he told me that. "You just don't know what the world is like. You don't have the experience. The only difference between me and you and is age and experience. You'll learn. You have everything ahead of you."
Isn't it always ahead of me. I wonder why it keeps running. I wonder if I'm fast enough to catch up to it.
And that's really the thing.
You're walking down a spiral staircase. It's rickety. Any time you step too hard or shift your weight suddenly, the whole thing shakes like it might fall. Maybe you're sure of yourself, so that's never a problem. Maybe you're a daredevil and you like it, you take two steps at a time and throw yourself against the railing. Maybe you're like me and kind of a klutz, you've fallen down just as many of the steps as you've walked down. And maybe, at some point, you've realized just how unstable the whole rig is. You can't go back up because then you're just stuck at the top, but it's still so far to the bottom. You're tripping over your feet and you never land quite right on the steps. So, you're thinking, maybe it'd just be better to hop over the side. Sure, it's a long fall, but you're not certain that the whole thing won't crash down anyway. It's a long fall, but it's only the one compared to the many you're certain to face if you keep on like you are. It's a long fall, but at least you'll be at the end. And really, when you're standing on such a shaky contraption, it's the most logical thing in the world to want to get off quickly.
My whole life, everyone's always told me to wait, it gets better. Middle school is so much better than elementary school. High school is when your life really begins. Everything comes together at sixteen. When you're eighteen you'll finally be free. Nothing really happens until college. In a minute. Maybe soon. Just wait. It's all about to happen.
I believed it all. I waited. I expected it to be better. I held my breath. I tried to make it better. I changed who I was so many times thinking I was the problem that kept things at a stand-still. And everything I did, every attempt I made to make "it" happen, to be happy, get married, get a dog, move out, be self sufficient, it's all led here. I'm ten again, sitting in the counselor's office while she tells me that I need to learn how to interact with the other kids. I'm twelve, coming home from school in tears every day for reasons I can't remember. I'm fourteen and thinking of changing my clothes, my music, my taste in everything just to have what people call friends. I'm sixteen and cutting myself wide open so I can keep those friends, no matter what it costs me. I'm eighteen and running back to mom when things don't work out the way I expected. I'm twenty and failing out of college. I'm twenty-two and failing out of marriage. I'm twenty-four and still failing.
"What do you intend do with a psychology degree?"
"Uh..."
"How are you going to make money if you major in art? Do plan to go into advertising?"
"No, I don't think so. I just wanted to be an artist."
"I see. Well, what are you going to do once you've got your associates in English? What will you do with a bachelors in music?"
"I don't know. What do people usually do with that?"
"They teach."
"Oh. I don't like crowds."
"Yes, I imagine you're not teaching material. You have to be able to hold a conversation."
"I'm sorry. I received a complaint. I need to let you go."
"I'm sorry. This is your third warning. I'm going to have to let you go."
"I'm sorry. You were late again. We've already got someone covering your shift."
"I'm sorry. She can work more hours than you can. January 6th will be your last day."
"Better luck next semester."
I worked with a guy who'd spent his whole life savings on his education. He had his degree in something that sounded marketable. For a living he organized DVD's. Alphabetically. For a little over $8/hr. Working the register next to me at Office Depot was a guy who'd studied to become a teacher. He couldn't get paid enough doing that so he worked retail. How, exactly, is college going to make my life easier? Which doors are going open and why didn't these other people go through them? What's the point?
"They want you medicated?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Uh..."
"You don't look depressed."
"Well, thank you."
"I don't feel like I can do anything."
"Then you can't. As long as you feel helpless, you'll be helpless."
And as he says this, it suddenly occurs to me that I've felt this way for a very long time. And that I'm not sure it will ever go away. I'm told that it will. That things will get better. Intellectually, I'm aware of that. I know things don't stay bad. I'm just suddenly wondering if they ever get good. Yes, I've been happy before. Yes, I know I'll be happy again. But what I don't know is if I'll ever feel better. It's not about being happy, it's about being okay. It's about being able too look at things and not have to dig your way through the stupid sludge in your brain to find the good parts. It's about believing what I already know. I don't need you to tell me them again, because it just makes me feel stupid for not believing it. I'm doing the fucking best I can and I'm always feeling like it will never be good enough. I will never be determined enough, smart enough, quick enough, professional, reliable, responsible, grown-up, organized, attentive, happy, content, stable, friendly, tough, sensitive enough, enough, enough, enough.
I went to the doctor today. He said, "You're attractive. You're 24. You've got your whole life ahead of you." I told him that was sort of the point. That's why I was there instead of somewhere else plotting my demise. Again. "But what," he said, "is wrong? What causes you to feel like this?" I told him I didn't know, and that was only half true. "You have not had your tetanus or flu shot! Why will you not get those? Have you ever seen someone die of tetanus?" I told him I hadn't and that I didn't really think any of that was relevant. I imagined myself crawling through a bed of rusty nails coated with influenza and decided I'd rather be doing that. "I'm going to prescribe prozac and something for anxiety. I want you to see you again in two weeks. Why in two weeks? Because. Do you know why people kill themselves after they've started medication?" I gave him an explanation of the brain chemistry and how it worked. He shook his head, "It's because their brain clears up. The meds clear their head and they decide to kill themselves anyway. I want to see you in two weeks." I wondered why he told me that. "You just don't know what the world is like. You don't have the experience. The only difference between me and you and is age and experience. You'll learn. You have everything ahead of you."
Isn't it always ahead of me. I wonder why it keeps running. I wonder if I'm fast enough to catch up to it.
And that's really the thing.