Photo by Henry & Co. on Unsplash
I've had a week, a month actually, not my first and probably not my last. It's been a few years, I'm being honest, of existing in survival mode. The other night, I hit the proverbial wall and wrote this...
Maybe a cry for help, although more like a rage-filled scream at the harshness of this reality that on that day, brought me to my knees
I'm not sure I can do this anymore
My kids will have what they need financially if I'm dead.
At least then I can provide for them… transactionally.
I should have stayed in the porn biz.
I should have stayed married to the first man who didn't love me
Who the fuck am I to think I might offer something that would mean something.
It's me, I'm the narcissist who thinks my existence in this reality, my contribution, would shift the needle in a positive direction.
What the bleep do I know.
Nothing.
I know
nothing
I'veI've failed
Everyone
That I thought I was supposed to care about.
I showed up
I gave
Everything
I
Had
And it wasn't enough
I'm tired of waiting for the promises made by the ghosts hanging out in my mind
The angel numbers
And tarot cards that offered hope to an eternal optimist
And lied
I've got nothing left to give you but my corpse.
I hope it serves you.
Since my accident last year, life has been very hard. And I know that I am not the only one going through tough times.
The world is going through a tough time. Humanity seems to be at its breaking point.
I think there is only so much one person can take before the weight of existence crushes them.
I feel crushed. I am exhausted. All of the wise words, tips, and tools, the promises that it will get better, are appreciated and yet feel empty at the moment.
For 54 years, I have woken up every day in gratitude, with a smile and hope in my heart. Continuing to do everything I can to create and support myself, my children, my friends, my community, and the world at large in a positive way.
It just seems, right now, that none of the tools in my toolbox are capable of repairing the damage done by our collective unconsciousness.
Even though surrender has never been part of my personality, in so many ways, I have surrendered, held space for and accepted what is.
Unfortunately, this reality doesn't offer space to breathe and definitely doesn't provide safety in surrendering. There is no room where one can truly rest.
There's always a bill to pay and a mouth to feed. And for sure, I chose the more challenging path in that respect. And for most of my life, I did quite well at that.
For almost 15 years now, I have been the sole provider for my children, financially and emotionally. With all this talk from men about how women's role is to make babies and to be mothers, the irony that there is no support for mothers. A fetus seems to have more rights than I do.
It can become too much to bear on certain days.
The other day, I saw a graph showing what a "family" needed to earn to survive in each state. The numbers are staggering; I don't know how a single-family income can do that.
Meanwhile, we're being told that the economy and the stock market are soaring. But at the store yesterday, the milk that I bought cost two dollars more than it did five days ago. Have you checked in on Tik Tok lately? Video after video of someone hoping to get millions of views to garner a few thousand bucks to pay off their debt...
Yea.. that's a great economy.
In many parts of the world, mothers and children are being murdered in the name of God, so we're told. In between the videos of everyday people in dire need of help, there are videos of families from Gaza desperately seeking funding to cross a border because there is now a "war tax"; what was once a small fee is now a ransom that must be paid in order just to survive the day.
People are losing everything they have to pay for medical expenses, but we always seem to have money for bombs and lobbyists who write legislation and budgets for those bombs and take away basic human rights, all in the name of democracy.
For almost my entire life, I have been a creative in one capacity or another, and as I sit here and watch the industry that I have loved crumble and be destroyed by greed, and by men who don'tdon't care about the impact the content that they're putting out creates, all the while being told that there is no room or space for the kind of content that I create.
My once tenacious soul is disheartened.
And I wonder what to do. What job could I possibly get?
Ironically, when I broke my ankle I applied for jobs and was told I was too over qualified and seemed "too independent for the corporate world"
And so I still dream. I continue trying to create and offer an antidote to the zombie apocalypse.
And there are days when holding that dream is exhausting.
As a mother, I worry about the world my children are walking in to. I'm afraid that the life I've prepared them for won't exist, and I can only hope that they have what they need within them to carve out the life they want and deserve from the mess we left them.
Maybe I just feel too much and care too much, and like I said, I should just go produce soulless, apocalyptic, and depressing content because that's the only thing anybody wants to watch, I'm told.
So yeah, existential crisis… The dark night of the soul… Alas, we're only allowed a few moments before we must get back on the track.
The machine requires its oil.
I’m still, in spite of it all an eternal optimist, even if I do loose my cool every now and then. I am grateful I have the space to vent it all out.
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