Sometimes I get confused. Sometimes I don’t know why I’m here or what I am supposed to be doing. Sometimes the simplest of things, stuff I have done for years, boggles my mind and seems new and daunting. It does not feel good, and when I say that I am often accused of self pity, perfectionism, egoism, not wanting to be human. Bleh. It doesn’t feel good, and it scares me. What other people think of me is none of my business, whether that feels good or not.
I’m job seeking again, and not only does that not feel good, it more or less sucks big rotting sausage links. People want credentials but are not willing to train you. I am determined to get a specific networking credential, not so much because I want it but because I have been led to believe I cannot attain it. I don’t believe they intended for me to feel stupid on this last job, but they did. That just shows their lack of compassion and understanding for someone who learns and works differently than the dominant paradigm in their corporate culture. Fuck ’em. But, again, it doesn’t feel good.
I suppose the point is that I am tired of not feeling good. I am sick and tired of feeling sick and tired, and not quite sure what exactly to do about that. Actually, I know WHAT to do about it, but am not quite sure how to get that done. This place is still a mess, despite having thrown out huge bags of junk, and I am finding that I just don’t have the energy to take on the rest of it. My strategy is to do little bits at a time, but that is going to take a long time and I don’t have the patience for that. I am going to call the 800-JUNK folks to haul out an old sofa and recliner and a couple of old kitchen appliances, and maybe some old clothes that can go to Goodwill or something. Maybe I should hire someone to come in and actually do some housekeeping. Oy vey. It seems to take such a monumental effort to live these days.
“So much trouble in the world, nigga
Can’t nobody feel your pain
The world’s changin’ everyday, time’s movin’ fast” (Tupac – “All Eyez On Me”)
That’s the thing. Can’t nobody feel your pain. But if they could, would that make a difference? It would still hurt. The world still changes, time still moves, and now your pain is multiplied if someone else can feel it. I want the pain to go away. I want the pain to go away from every body [sic]. Every single body. But of course, that’s unreasonable. Pain is a constant, a given, there is no negotiation. You can choose the form of the destructor, just don’t have thoughts of something that seems innocent (like Mr. Staypuft) because innocence is truly a fallacy once you are reality-based. A giant marshmallow can do as much damage as a microscopic virus in the wrong context.
Every time I think I have the pattern figured out, it seems that I didn’t have enough conclusive data. There’s trouble in the world. Out of control people are killing other people to seek control over someone, something, anything. It doesn’t work. It never works. It’s a temporary solution to a permanent problem. They want the pain to go away, too.
I was on a video call yesterday with a group of people, and the grandfather of a young woman killed by police here in NC was sharing the story of her tragic death. She was unarmed, but this was not a black man, or someone with a lengthy record of previous criminal transgressions. She had committed no crime. The police had been called to intervene on a mental health crisis; she had a history of mental health issues and was in a threatening situation with an ex-boyfriend. She was combative and loud with the police officers, and who knows how her brain interpreted that experience. When all was said and done, an officer shot her 17 times in the back and head, while she was handcuffed and prone in her driveway. After he shot her 4 times to “neutralize” her, he turned away and he saw her twitch so he shot her 13 more times. Who knows how his brain interpreted that experience. Regardless, she was a 30-something white woman, dead at the hands of law enforcement. Permanent solution to a temporary problem. Permanent solution to a temporary life.
This does not fit the pattern with which many of us had become comfortable, but only because there was not enough data. Law enforcement is called upon to intervene in mental health crises every day, but few of them are specifically trained for dealing with the mentally ill. This has happened numerous times in the past – M’Khia (sp?) Bryant comes to mind. She was a 17-year old Black girl in confrontation with other teenaged girls outside her home. She was enraged and in a panic; she called the police herself because she knew they were coming to do her harm. Knife in hand, she went out to confront them herself, and the responding officer shot her 4 times because she was apparently trying to stab another girl. He said she refused to drop the knife. It was a kitchen knife, and she was an enraged 17-year old in a blind panic, and for that she paid with her life. Permanent solution to a temporary problem. Permanent solution to a temporary life.
I suppose that is where I am having such difficulty. When I have contemplated permanent solutions as a way to make the pain stop, I am not convinced that gives me control over anything. Even temporarily. I’m also not convinced it actually eradicates the pain, but only transfers it to another destination. The lifeless body and the circumstances of its ending still generates pain for family members, for witnesses, for anyone involved, for the community in general. If this does not give credence to the reality of our interconnectedness I am not sure what else will.
For me, at this moment, I struggle with a desire to be interconnected. Actually, that may not be entirely true. What is probably more the heart of the matter is that I cannot be interconnected on my own terms. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and how I am most comfortable doing it. That doesn’t work. There are far too many competing interests in my reality, which may or may not be synonymous with the planet, for that to be a reasonable expectation. So now what?
Today, now what is to gather up another bag of useless clutter and dispose of it. Now what is to complete another bizarre one-way video interview and scour job boards for possible matches. Now what is to choose life, not because I want it to continue or feel that it really benefits me, but simply because I do not want to transfer my pain to others. I was reflecting on legacy the other day, and wondering if I had one to leave behind. Perhaps I don’t have anything to leave of any great consequence, but I sure as hell don’t want to leave one of pain, shame, blame, and pity. I would rather not be remembered at all than be remembered for that.
The Sound Hole 