Wednesday, Jul. 24, 2019 3:58 PM
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am depressed.
I'm not sure when it started.
Was it after my second interview on Tuesday morning? Was it on Sunday when the family had a meeting to discuss "my" future? Was it last week when Kent contacted me out of the blue, all drunk and high, texting me words that were painful to read? Or was it before all of this current drama?
Perhaps I have never stopped being depressed. Perhaps I've just gotten really good at hiding it. I wonder if I've been depressed this entire time. I know I have kept myself busy on purpose. I know the moment I start to feel anything, I jump up and make myself busy. I'm pretty sure I have the cleanest toilets in the entire state of Kansas. But you can only clean two toilet bowls so many times, especially when you start running out of toilet bowl cleaner and money is tight.
I'm running out of things to keep myself busy. The few things I need to get done have to be done at a certain time, like touching up the paint on the front door. I have to wait until it's not so humid out or else the touch up job would be futile. I could mow my weed garden, but I was told that would destroy the mower. I don't have a weed eater and no money to buy one. I just had to pay a huge chunk of money to the sprinkler guys for installing the sprinklers, and a big chunk of money to pay off all the dresses my mother made me buy for my "future" job. Thing is, I hate dresses and most places don't require you to dress that nice. I tried to get out of it. I tried to tell her it was pointless buying them when I'm in the middle of losing weight. I'm down 90 pounds and I still have a good 90 pounds to go. The dresses we bought no longer fit me up top. Her conclusion? To take them into a seamstress to get them refitted. When? After I've lost the next 90 pounds? If it's anything like reupholstering a couch, then I might as well just waste my money buying new dresses instead. On top of that, I have to spend another big chunk of money for the landscaping. I also have someone from Budget Blinds coming on Friday to measure my windows. It appears, and I say this sarcastically to myself because I should have known better, that massive windows let in a lot of sun which equates to a lot of heat. Anyhow, once everything is done, I'll be flat broke. FLAT BROKE.
I don't have any savings. I don't have an IRA. I don't have any retirement fund or investments of any sort. Hell, I don't even own a car anymore. I can't get car insurance because the insurance agent turned me in as the one driving when it was Kent. If I lived in a big city I'd be better off. At least in big cities they have subway systems and buses. Here? They have a lousy bus system. The buses only travel east and west, and they don't run often enough to benefit anyone. I could always buy a bike, but I can't see myself having to go over 5 miles to work and back everyday doing that. It's bad enough I'd have to walk 3 miles just to reach the closest bus stop. How am I getting around right now? My parents are loaning me their spare car, a car they only keep as a spare so I have vehicle to get around in.
The worst thing is my company doesn't have any money to pay my salary. Maybe that's why I have no gumption to work. What is the point of doing the job when you're not going to be compensated for it? I know. I know. Because it's the right thing to do. So I will eventually get around to doing the work again. I tell myself I'm spacing it out so I have something to do every single day, but truth is, I just have no desire to do it.
I have no motivation. I'm not mentally stimulated. I haven't been on vacation since the summer of 2016 and it's driving the nomad in me nuts. Having to find another job is probably the best thing for me, but I hate change. It scares me. It scares me having to start over from the bottom and work my way up again. It scares me going from a secure salary to an hourly paid job, where I'll be making the same amount of money I was making in my early 20s. I'll be working harder for less pay, and I won't even be making enough money support my needs.
I shouldn't have built a house, but I didn't want to live in my parents basement anymore. Apartment living is out of the question. My rent would have only been $100 less than my house payment. I don't know how the rest of America does it. How in the world do they make it work? Are they all living off credit or something? Minimum wage in Kansas is only $7.25 an hour. It's sickening. People pay more for ONE fast food meal than they make in an hour. It makes eating out pointless, except you almost spend as much on food at the grocery store now, too. Unless you want to eat crap that isn't good for you and does bad things to your body.
Enough with my whining about not having enough money to live. I know other people out there have it way worse than I do. I'm just stuck in a "woe is me" attitude because of the stress and fear I'm experiencing. I hate uncertainty. I like security. Thing is, all my security blankets are being torn out from under me right now and it's shaking up my world. It will all be okay. Somehow it always is. Of course, I say that when there's probably some woman being beaten and raped right now, a child being neglected to the point of death, an LGBTQIA member being terrorized, or some poor little animal being victimized. I can't go there, though. I can't handle thinking about such things. It will just pull me down a dark hole that took me years to climb out of.
I wish I had something to keep me busy. I type that just as my brain goes, "be careful what you wish for."
So, I had an interview on Tuesday. It's for a part time job where I'd be doing data entry mostly. The charity (is it a charity?) houses victims of domestic violence. I won't work with any of the victims or help them out in any way. I'd just be entering in all the statistics for grants and government documents. The lady I met with said that they could only pay me for 20 hours a week, but more than likely the work won't take 20 hours a week to do. I'd also be an assistant administrator for this lady's boss, a woman I know personally named Kit. I'm not sure if I'll get the job. I'm not even sure if I want the job. I need a job that pays more an hour and offers me more hours. I need a job that keeps me busy, that feels like I'm accomplishing something and doing something good. I like Kit a lot, but this other lady kind of scared me. I think it's just my fear talking. I'm afraid I'll mess up or something.
Plus, what is with me and interviewers asking the weirdest questions? This interviewer asked me if I was a picky eater. Then she asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I know she was throwing these questions out to catch me off guard and see how I'd respond, but seriously? Why do interviews have to be a game? I'm not my real self during an interview. I'm too wound up and nervous because of my social anxiety and shyness. I wish I could just go into an interview with a what the hell attitude and not feel like I'm on an examination table. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I need to turn it around and be examining them instead. Knowing me, I'd just mess that up, too.
This is when my low self-esteem kicks in. I wonder if I'm good enough, if I have the capability to do the work. Deep down I know I'm smart enough and good enough, but there's always that little voice that makes me question my worth. I thought about this last night as I was driving home. I think it's from years of being told I'm being overpaid for what I do now, from basically being told that the stuff I do now could be done by a monkey. I also think it's from having all this work to do and then having my dad and brother-in-law take it all away from me piece by piece and giving it to someone else. It was always with a, "this person needs a job so we're going to hire them to do this now." Now it's to the point where it's like, "well, they have the job and now I need one so what about me?" I know it's selfish to feel this way, but I seriously feel like they shit on me. And I think that's where my low self-esteem is kicking in. I know I'm worthy. I know I'm smart. I know I'm good at many things... but I feel like I'm treated like I'm not any of those things.
I wish I hadn't been so indecisive growing up. I wish I would have gone to University, gotten my degree in something, and went directly into that field instead of floundering around like I still am today. It's always the but.... I want to be a veterinarian but I'd have to put the animals to sleep. I want to be a journalist but I hate interviewing people. I want to be an editor but then I'd have to move to a city like NY. I want to be counselor but it takes years to get that degree. I want something to do but I don't want to exit my safe place and venture beyond these four walls painted the most hideous yellowy cream color.
I should have been an interior decorator. I would never have allowed this office building to be painted dark colors, closing in a space that already felt too closed in, putting chevron stripes on gold and black walls in the girls bathroom that I've nicknamed the Charlie Brown walls, putting a squarish black mirror over the black wall with black granite pressed up against it. Maybe some people like that style, but it could have been so much better. It could have been more tastefully done. It could have had color! But no...
I did figure out one reason why DW wants us out of the building so bad. He's paranoid that if my dad keels over dead all of us kids are going to be like the "chipmunks" (his words, not mine), and it will be a similar situation that he and my dad went through with them. I don't think my family could ever be that evil. If my dad died, I think we would prefer to be bought out of the building. But FR is so broke right now that we may go ahead and be bought out of it. The little twerp will get exactly what he wants, my sister Angie will accomplish pushing me and Jenny out of the company, and I will be..... I will be lost. Not forever. Just for awhile. The bitterness that sits in the pit of my stomach towards this whole situation will probably fester over into everything else because it will be another moment in my life where somebody else controlled the outcome of my existence. Why can't I let this bitterness towards them go? DW is just paranoid and immature. He's almost 60 and a spoiled brat so I doubt his attitude ever changes. Angie has always thought she was the only sane and normal one in the family and I highly doubt that will ever change. All I can control is how I react to this all, and right now my reaction is depression.
I do think about offing myself. I'll admit that out loud. If I admit it out loud, then I know I won't really do it. Doesn't mean the thoughts aren't there. "well, if I just slit my wrists and ended it all, then I wouldn't have to worry about finding another job. I wouldn't have to worry about a future that hasn't happened yet. I wouldn't have to put up with Kent and his depressing existence every time he calls and tries to manipulate my emotions. I wouldn't have to live long enough to see my two cats get older and die. I wouldn't have to watch Comet, with her little bad ear, limp around the house." Her limp and ear just break my heart, but at the same time it makes her a thousand times cuter than she's ever been. "I wouldn't have to watch my parents get old and die. I wouldn't have to be the one to change my mother's diapers and watch her mind slip away. I wouldn't have to put up with the sexism. Less pay for the same job, disrespect, and the list goes on. I wouldn't have to deal with men who leave me in a pitch black building at night with no lights on. Me? A former rape victim. Granted, they don't know that and I'll never tell them... but I hate the dark. I wouldn't have to worry about money. I wouldn't have to worry about anything. I'd just be gone." But that won't happen. I'll be here to deal with all this bullshit and pain, because it's the right thing to do.