Blues for Persephone

I saw a question on social media that asked, “Ten years ago, did you expect your interests to stay the same or be different now?”

I had to think about ten years ago. I think ten or so years ago was when I realized that my life would never get better. I didn’t think it would suck as much as it does now but I knew it wouldn’t be great.

For most of my life I deluded myself into blaming myself for everything that had ever gone wrong. Maybe if I lost weight. Maybe if I made more money. Maybe if I moved. Maybe if I changed jobs, job locations, departments, friends, habits, patterns. None of that worked. I tried everything I could find or think of to change and I did change. Nothing else did.

Now I find myself with little lives that depend on my, on my life and health. I find myself in a repeating cycle that none of my efforts changed except to make it worse.

I find myself alone because of all that I’ve learned and all that I know and all that I understand, because all of that makes it unbearable to watch the casual cruelty, the nitpicky bullshit that people use to excuse treating each other and other animals like shit.

I become less and less articulate, less and less intelligent, less and less hopeful every moment of every day. I have a prolonged episode that is one of the worst my CPTSD has ever offered, then my rotator cuff is nearly cut in two pieces by a bone spur, then my mom dies, then I get a traumatic brain injury. I’m not sure what’s next but it isn’t anything that my self from twenty years ago hoped would come to pass.

Every time I hear something that might look promising I now realize it won’t happen, and if it does it won’t make anything better. It might change things. Change is easy to cause. Better is, well I don’t know how to make something better. I don’t know that I ever have.

Everything is say is reflected back to me as the opposite. Everything I do is inadequate. I am powerless and not in an AA way. That’s fine for whoever has found healing there. I find that stuff empty at best and torturous at worst.

This blog started out with my intention to help others. Now it’s just a place where I can talk shit. I don’t have anyone to talk to anymore in real life. I’ve been shamed for telling the truth on IG and if I say anything on Facebook people assume I’m vague-booking. If I ever am it’s because the real assholes will screen shot it and pass it around like high school bullies.

People all around the country are losing people they love. People who didn’t do anything wrong are dying because of people who did do wrong. If I didn’t have tiny mammals who depend on me I’d do a spell every night to trade my life for someone who is loved. I wish I could do that but I can’t. I have to wait until I’ve suffered through the four more little deaths that will gut my world before I can go. My deepest hope is that there is no afterlife, that my energy is dissipated into the dirt and goes one without my knowing. I am so tired.