I’m Not Sure How to Feel About This

I posted a tweet about my reaction to tonight’s episode of “The Big Bang Theory”, which dealt with the gang having their own prom on the roof because most of them hadn’t been to their proms. My tweet said: “Tonight’s episode of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ reminded me of how I didn’t go to my prom…or on a date.” This is true: I didn’t go to either my junior or senior prom. Nor did I go on a date in high school.

I have been feeling really lonely for the past couple of days. This happens quite often, actually, where just out of the blue, I’ll think about how alone I am–except for my mom and a few friends from high school, I have nobody. And being anxious in any social situation, that’s not liable to change.

So tonight’s episode, while it did make me laugh a few times, also made me really sad inside.

So here’s the part that confuses me. Apparently, the actress who played Howard’s cousin–and Stuart’s (Stewart’s?) date–saw my tweet and favorited it. Not having the context that I’m providing here, I’m sure she did that because it speaks to how I related to the premise of the episode. Yet, in my screwed-up head, I also see it as saying “yay” to the unknown context.

I guess that’s the blessing and the curse of social media: people can “like” or “favorite” things you say, not knowing the meaning beneath.

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To NaNo or Not To NaNo?

I have participated twice in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), once in 2007 and once in 2009 (I think).  I won both–meaning I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days.  The 2007 entry currently sits at around 65,000 words and has not been finished–I know how it ends, I just haven’t gotten back to it–and the 2009 entry (called “The Uprising”) was a complete novel (novella, whatever).  I have not participated since.  This is partly because I wasn’t really in a good place for those first two years (from 2009 through 2011, we were actively trying to leave South Crazylina and I was hating life because I was stuck there).  In November, 2011, we were moving to Virginia, so even if I’d wanted to participate, I couldn’t.  Then in 2012 and 2013, I was so busy with school and work that I didn’t have the time.

So now it’s 2014.  I’m thinking about participating this year, and I have two ideas.  The first of these is a story idea I’ve had for a few years, it would be fun to write and is all set to go.  The second idea is new, so it hasn’t had time to ferment in my mind.  It would be fun to write, and I know the setup and the middle of the story, but I don’t know the ending.  It would be fun to write, but I’d be scared to go into it and have no clear idea of where the ending is.  So, I would probably write the first one, letting the second one percolate in my tiny little brain until it was more fleshed out.

And yet I’m hesitant to commit to NaNoWriMo this year.  Part of it is the depression that is now unmedicated.  Mainly, though, I think it’s because I’m not sure I want to commit a big block of time to something again right now.  As explanation:  for the past three and a half years, I have been attending school to obtain a second bachelors degree.  Since the move out of South Crazylina, I have been able to actually get jobs, and between those jobs and school, I have not had a lot of time for myself.  When I would be done with work, I’d have to spend the next few hours doing schoolwork.  I was exhausted at the end of most days, and would usually spend the weekend either studying or sleeping.  In September, I finished and have been trying to catch up on things that I let slide since.  I have been using some of this new-found free time to study for some certifications that I hope will help me land a full-time job, and I’m afraid to commit to the writing project right now for fear of falling into exhaustion again.

I do want to play NaNo this year (since it has been five years and I’ll get to meet new people in a new region), but that time commitment looks really big.  What do you think?  Say what you want; I’ll appreciate the advice, but I will reserve the final judgment.

P.S.  Internet Explorer is REALLY SLOW  in here.

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September and beyond

So I was taking my pills this morning and discovered that I have two weeks’ worth of anti-depressants left (generic for Zoloft). My doctor has said that she will not renew any prescriptions until I come in to see her (this was said when I tried to renew prescriptions for cholesterol med and sleeping pills). Well, since I live in America and am one of the 19 people left in what used to be called the “middle class,” I cannot afford to see the doctor. So, September and beyond should be interesting.

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In case you were wondering…

I’ve been going through an extended down period. I’ve been having a lot more headaches than usual (while more frequent, they haven’t been as painful as when I’m on my usual schedule–small blessing). That’s why I’ve been quiet. Since I’m still going through it, I probably will be quiet for a bit longer.

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Maybe I did deserve it

The most traumatic event of my life happened in May of 1986, on the last night of my first year of college, on Long Island (further years were not on Long Island), while I sat in the corner of my dorm, hoping that the flimsy door would hold up.  It was not the darkest night of my life (that honor came on a night almost three years later), but it was a night that sent my mental and emotional life in a completely new direction, and in whose shadow I still live 28-plus years later.

The summer after it happened, I went to see a psychiatrist because I was having nightmares.  His response was: “So what do you want me to do?”

Four years later, I told the story in a group therapy session.  Most of the people in the group didn’t believe it.

I won’t bore you with the story.  I finally wrote it all down about fifteen years ago.  I couched it in terms of fiction, but everything I wrote happened or were my dreams about it.

My mind has been replaying that night for the past few nights as I’ve been trying to get to sleep.  I don’t know why exactly, because even though that night affected my emotions so, I try not to think about it and, for the most part, succeed.  In addition, my mind has been getting me to look at it in a new light.

The only way I’ve lived with this really and not have it drive me completely insane was to convince myself that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  My drowsy mind has been re-evaluating that conclusion and tonight, while I was having a massage, it kept turning over in my head.  I couldn’t stop it.  And now, I begin to wonder if maybe I didn’t somehow deserve it.  Because I was studying a lot, because I was trying to learn, because I didn’t really get into the partying scene that was rampant on the hall, did I set myself up as a target?  And might I not have deserved it if the herd (as I called my hallmates in the aforementioned story) chose to shoot at the target?

Most of me believes that’s nonsense.  But there is a small but growing part that says that I brought it on myself.  Maybe I did, and maybe my fucked-up life is my own damn fault.

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Withdrawal

I had been hoping to write in here more frequently than once a week or so, but so far that isn’t working out.  I think my problem is lack of motivation.

As I’ve chronicled, I haven’t posted on Facebook in probably two months, nor have I tweeted for about a month and a half.  I find that nobody has noticed me missing.  That isn’t (or at least shouldn’t be) my prime reason for posting, but I do find it drains my motivation to put myself out anywhere.  I think about posting here and then quickly talk myself out of it, saying “why bother to expend the energy?”

The other, and perhaps more disturbing, thoughts that have crept into my psyche revolve around completely withdrawing from the world.  I’ve already stopped Facebook and Twitter, I’m not posting much in here.  One of my goals for this year was to try to get out more and meet people, but I’m thinking about stopping that, too (not that I’ve done a whole lot of that, anyway).  Just become a hermit.  I think I could do it and have nobody miss me.

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Paranoia Will Destroy Ya

Hang on, I need to get some music going.  I know I should have thought of it sooner, but there you are.

Ready…

When did people, especially parents, become so paranoid?  This is something I’ve kind of wondered about in the back of my mind, but only this morning did it come to the front.  Why? you may ask.  This morning I was driving back from Dunkin’ Donuts (because I felt like being really naughty, diabetes be damned) and I got to my court just as the school bus that was picking up kids was closing its doors in preparation to leave.  Before the bus started up, a mother in a silver SUV of some sort who was parked at the corner pulled out of the court waving to the bus driver.  When the bus left and I turned in, there was a father standing there, having seen his teenager off.  I have also noticed that around four in the afternoon, when the school bus comes back with elementary school kids, there is another mother who parks her car at the corner, picks up her little darling then drives down to the end of the court.

If the court were a long street, I could understand this behavior.  If the children had trouble walking, I could understand the behavior.  But the street is maybe 400 feet long.  Seriously?  The little darlings can’t walk 400 feet and can’t wait for the bus without an “adult” present?

I am about the age where, if I had had children (or a wife, or a lover, or a life, or…), I would have a teenager also.  Back when I was going to elementary school and high school, nobody walked me (or drove me, for that matter) to the bus stop, and the walk was a bit longer than 400 feet.  Three neighbor children and I would stand at the bus stop by ourselves.  We would get off the bus and walk home by ourselves.  A few times in high school, I had to walk home because I had missed the late bus.  I have to assume that most children of my generation had similar experiences.  So why is it now that children need constant supervision.

Also, when I was young, I used to play outside with no adult supervision.  I used to fall down, get scraped up, even bleed with nary a problem.  I didn’t wear a helmet when I rode my bike.  I would tumble down hills and jump off of and over things with no padding (except my fat gut).

All of this happened, and I turned out mostly okay.  So why is it now that the little darlings can’t go to the bus stop by themselves, can’t play without ten pounds of protective gear and most of all, can’t do anything without adults hovering over them?

I’m willing to admit that maybe my views are a little harsher because I don’t have children.  But still, I feel the stifling paranoia that parents are exposing their children to will create a generation of even more paranoid and over-protective adults.  Do we really need that?

To answer my own question about when this all started, I think the pat answer is September 11, when we in America became a nation of people who were suspected of being terrorists by our own government (and hello to the NSA agent whose ears just perked up with this sentence).  And perhaps the pat answer is correct: that all the subsequent years of government-sponsored paranoia (“LIVE IN FEAR!  LIVE IN FEAR!  THEY’RE OUT TO GET YOU!  BOO!  RE-ELECT ME!”) have affected us all.

I just wish people would realize that, while there are security concerns, there’s no need to be a hair’s breadth from panic all the time.

(See, I can write about stuff besides my own depression.)

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