I had a frightening realization tonight. I’d been enjoying myself, having some fun relaxing and looking at some cool stuff online, when my roommates (and the boyfriend of one of them) got home, making lots of noise as usual, and completely killed any pleasant feelings I’d been having. So I thought, “I’ll head to the pub down the block for a drink. Maybe after a beer or two I’ll be able to cope a little bit better with the stupidity and shit I’ve got to deal with in this place.”
Then as I was halfway down the street, three of those words stood out at me with disturbing clarity: Drink to cope.
No, of course I can’t really afford it. I realized something else, though — and it got me singing Creedence Clearwater Revival: “Someone told me long ago, there’s a calm before the storm…”
I’ve been spending a fair bit of time and money on myself recently, stocking up on good times and pleasant experiences… because I can see the storm coming. I can see the signs all pointing to some seriously deep shit hitting a majorly big fan very soon, and I’m doing what I can to minimize the damage to myself.
If I had access to a therapist right now, I’d be seeing her. Unfortunately, I’m getting fucked over and then passed to the next clueless bureaucracy to turn me like a cheap trick while I do what little I can to fight against the agencies who claim to want to help me, in order to accomplish anything productive.
I’m currently living here without a lease; my landlord hasn’t returned any of my calls in over a week. I was trying to reach him before my lease ended at the start of September so I could let him know I’m looking for something that doesn’t completely suck ass like this place does, but I can’t even tell him that much if he doesn’t care enough to check his messages and call me back.
My roommates are driving me absolutely crazy, and are much of the reason I went out for a beer tonight, much of the reason I’ve avoided being home as often as possible lately. I’m as polite as can be to anyone’s face, and even go out of my way to do nice things when I can, but this place is toxic. It’s leeching away my emotional reserve, if there’s any left at this point, and it’s pulling me down into depression, apathy, anger and even occasional — very unwanted, and actively fought against — but occasional suicidal thought patterns.
I did not, absolutely DID NOT want to move again. 8 homes in 36 months is already far too many, and that’s not counting the first half of August 2010, which I spent floating in Vallejo, lucky to keep myself off of the streets each night, but doing so by making some choices I’d rather forget and by sacrificing some things I regret giving up.
One big difference I hope to have this time around is that I will give myself enough time to find something that works, and works well. Each of my other moves has been last-minute, with no significant planning and in complete desperation. Moving here was essential so that I could escape a physically and emotionally abusive intimate relationship as much as it was to get out from under the thumb of a slumlord bitch and away from a hellish neighborhood where I’d been mugged twice, both times in visual range of a police or fire station with absolutely zero response from “the authorities.”
I often find that people compliment me on how much of a difference I make to their day; I get thanked for the types of things I do every day to be like Daniel Goleman’s tale of a bus driver — something I was glad to have put in words much better than I could have expressed before reading that. I only wish that others could more easily and readily see that I put so much effort into making life a little less shitty for those around me because I am suffering so much myself, that the few smiles I bring to the faces of others are a few moments I can still hang on, a few more days that I still have a reason to try. I wish more people could do something significant to help me; I know there are plenty of good people and friends who would help if there was anything they could offer, but there’s nothing that’s in their power to change so that I can make it through.
I should go to sleep now, but there’s plenty more to say. It’ll have to wait.