I’m having one of those weekends that I will commit to the trash when it’s over. It’s left me feeling sad, lonely and as though I truly have no control over the events of my life. I’ve been told it’s all about choices. And in a perfect world, that would be true. In a perfect world, we would choose to have only positive, enlightened, supportive and loving people in our lives. Hearts would never get broken. People would never leave. And diseases like Cancer wouldn’t exist to utterly devastate and derail you in a fucking nanosecond.
Life would be. Perfect.
Because you’d choose it to be so.
But life isn’t perfect. Hearts get broken. People disappoint all the fucking time. And Cancer exists. And sometimes the choices you make have nothing to do with the path your life takes. Sometimes it’s the choices of others that directly affects your own. Sometimes it’s stress, illness, depression, societal pressures, work, a lover, a child, an eX, a pet, a drunk driver or the death of a loved one. The ricochet is boundless and never ending. For in truth, the circumstance of your birth can affect your entire existence from inception to death. And choice has nothing to do with any of it.
I do have some control.
I do have free will.
I can make a conscious choice to move out of sadness in this moment. And forget that my daughter and her father seem to have no concern for how their behavior affects me. Hurts me. Disrespects me. And most of all trivializes the sacrifices in the life I have given, the love I have gifted and the effort I have put into the difficult work both of them have been and continue to be! Or that my friends, once the emotional staple of my life, seem to have all but disappeared in every meaningful way. That their absence is breaking my heart. Leaving me feeling quite abandoned and alone. In truth, in this moment I am devastated. Disillusioned. And more disappointed than I have ever been before with my “family “.
And even sadder, is that it doesn’t seem to matter to anyone but me.
I could choose to disregard how affected I am. And move on. And stifle my heart and it’s emotional beats. Once again. But it’s hard. I’m a social being. I need the mix of friends, family, and lover. A blend that feeds my soul and reminds me daily of who I am. And in turn, I cherish our connection and nourish them as well. It’s never perfect. Bumps arise. People get angry. Conversation stumbles. Communication breaks down. We’re only human after all. But at the end of the day…love holds us to each other. And is recognized. And valued. And hopefully, is enough.
I’m gonna work hard at moving this mountain of depression and disappointment that has settled quite snuggly on my shoulders today. But it feels like a landslide of bitterness is eminent. Emotions are bubbling dangerously close to the surface. The kind that makes me react instead of respond. Speak without deeper thought because the pain of them overwhelms my sense of judgment. They can be toxic and have the same consequence as too much alcohol. A truth serum that is not always welcomed for the richness and boldness of its flavor. Not everyone can handle your truth.
So…in an attempt to ride out these feelings of anxiety, hopelessness, and sadness I decided to cook some oxtail. A hearty, yummy, beefy Jamaican dish that I haven’t quite mastered, but gets better each time I cook it. Usually, the process is therapeutic and the final reward quite satisfying.
But today. Just now. I burned it.
Of course I did.
And the Easter Bunny can kiss my fucking ass!
This isn’t what I wanted to write about today.
This isn’t how I wanted to be feeling today.
I’m so tired of NOT feeling like me. Just me – whoever that is – would like to be ever present.
And happy to be alive.
Is that really too much to ask Universe?