The rattle of broken things
I made it through another court hearing. I go back again November 26th. Nothing is decided except that despite my record not showing my previous DUI conviction, I must report it or be a perjurer to get into a diversion program. What that means, really, is I’m up for 2-3 days probably of jail time and some community service. All while hiding it from my coworkers, boss, father, and others. It weighs on me like an anchor chained to my leg and I’m waiting to be dropped into the ocean. All they did was confirm I’m not eligible for the diversion program and then set another date to come back. I THINK this will be the date that they will haul me off for a while but nothing has gone as expected so I’m not counting any chickens here. I’m just trying to keep calm and strong. To take up as little space as possible. To make this a thoughtful time so I never make this mistake again. To ingrain in myself how much pain is at stake for such an extended period of time for... what? An extra drink? One more chance at flirting? Staying out just a little bit longer? C’mon, love. When has that ever brought lasting happiness? Loneliness is not solved by drunken fumblings at the end of the night and it’s not like they ever happen anyway. Let’s not forget the last time they did and how much regret followed, as it finally stumbled out of bed and got onto the motorcycle in your driveway so that I could cry in peace. Whatever clumsy ways I have tried to find connections with someone else have nearly always turned into moments of deep self-doubt and loathing. I’m best when I’m unaware of or unconcerned with connecting to others. I create. I climb. I dance. I wish the last man who knew me and truly enjoyed my presence was someone I could have kept. All of this longing for acceptance has gotten me into some pretty hefty trouble, which also leaves me in yet another catatonic state with varying degrees of self-hate. Ironically, over the last few years, I have found a great deal of pleasure and peace in being alone. When the loneliness hits, though, I tip off the edge of the ridge. Self-acceptance. How do I get that? All this time trying to love myself, all of it, just as I am, and I find that I can only love some perceived future version of myself, a version wherein I’m “better”, but I can’t make the leap into loving myself right now. How much of this is something I have to figure out because of the trauma in my past, how I perceived my parents’ reactions to me, how I begged for the attentions of someone else who might value me since I did not feel like they did, and how much of this is just because today I am fat and not working as hard as I should and unhappy in so many ways? How to parse it all out? I have the time to think about it but instead, I just keep my hands busy or my brain distracted. This is America, after all. That’s easy to do, even when you’re not allowed to drink alcohol, by court order.