for my birthday weekend, I took myself to New York City. almost got fired again beforehand, though I truly wouldn't mind, despite the logistical nightmare no income nor insurance would bring. i hate this job on so many levels. how did i get here? so far from where i aimed to be, a meaningful career feels so out of reach.
i hate what i have done to myself, my life, in the last five to thirty-five years. the amount of times i've had the opportunity to reset, been privileged to be saved by some combination of parental support, however controlling, and treatment across levels of care, and time and time again i fall short. i dig myself deeper into the ground screaming for someone to listen without pathologizing, support my dreams without telling me i'm crazy or gaslighting me when i claim pain.
on one hand i know i am not being smart with my money. but i do not have the capability to plan ahead. i never though i'd live this long and certainly continue to feel burdened by my body. never given the opportunity to be autonomous, to learn from my mistakes, never taught basic skills most adults my age seemingly possess.
on the other hand, spotify notified me my favorite band would be playing a concert here. i booked a train. i booked an airbnb. i struggled through another week of work, this one particularly painful as i prepared to submit a rebuttal against my former employer for wrongful termination, a lawsuit i perhaps should not bother to pursue. plus my therapist was out of town for the last week and a half. but as i arrived to my seat at the concert last night, i felt myself become momentarily alive again. and today, exploring the city, fully in self, simultaneously grieving and trying desperately to live in the present...i feel so so hopeless, lost and alone. i reached out to friends who live in the city, no one got back to me to hang out. my philadelphia friends are equally artificial, only ever wanting to drink or fuck or promising to get together without following through, pretending to be supportive without ever checking in.
i have more to say but am so exhausted, literally and figuratively. i am so spent. i feel used up and broken. i want help but even the thought of seeking it out paralyzes me in a post-traumatic stress response. no matter which way i turn, all i feel is fear and all i want to do is escape.
tomorrow is palm sunday, the start of holy week, and my birthday. all i want to do is cry.
