A Life Worth Living?

I’m not even quite sure how to start this post. I’m searching, very hard I might add, to find words that seem eloquent, seem sufficient to really convey what I’m trying to say without sounding whiny and pathetic. But really… I just don’t know what else to do.

What started out as a pretty damn good day swiftly went downhill about four o’clock. It started to snow. Nothing ever good happens to me in the snow. I went into work only to realize that I’d left part of what I’m supposed to wear at home in one of the 30 bags I have to carry with me everyday.
My manager tells me, “Well just go buy a new one. You need to get one or you have to go home and I’m going to write you up.”

Which isn’t really such a big deal. But then he insinuates that I did this on purpose. That it was all part of some elaborately planned scheme to get out of working a measley four hours.

And that’s where I just lost it.

There are very few things in life that I have ultimate control over, very few things that means more to me than anything. #1 being my word. Anyone who knows me knows that I will go to the ends of the Earth to keep my word to anyone. The 2nd most important thing to me is my character. I have worked insanely hard to be a woman of good character. My work ethic, I can unbaisedly say, is better than most people I know my age. I work very hard, I try very hard and I can’t stand the implication that I am anything but diligent at anything that I do. It upset me. I left my job with an attitude, only to go back home in the snow, which at this point was falling harder. I got down in the train station and I realized that somehow the snow has hit me in my face and now my face is wet. Only, I never passed back outside. I realized that I was crying. And I don’t know why. I willed myself to stop, to PLEASE stop embarassing myself in public but the tears kept coming. My train came, I got on it, and hoped to God that I could keep my face down long enough to shield my tears from the other passengers who were alraedy begininng to look at me strangely. It didn’t work. I kept right on crying, now just completely enraged at myself not only for crying but for doing it in public among all these strangers who didn’t know me and, worse, didn’t care. They all looked at me with sad eyes, some with disdain, some with pity but no one moved in my direction. The woman sitting next to me even got up and stood to ride the next 5 stops to her station rather than sit next to the crying girl. I kept right on crying, no rational thought fully capable of keeping me from completely losing my shit in front of these people who didn’t know me.

I got to my station, got off and got on the shuttle to go home. Once I walked a couple blocks in the snow to my front door, I went upstairs and put my things down. I assume that maybe the fierce cold outside stopped the steady stream of tears because I don’t actually remember when the crying stopped. At some point it hits me that I haven’t eaten yet. I don’t have much of an appetite but I decide I should probably go get some food. I’d love, of course, to stay in given the weather conditions outside but, alas, I don’t have any food in my fridge because I don’t have time to shop. I begin to think, try to put a finger on exactly what bothered me so badly about getting sent home from work that could make me cry. I mean most people would be happy if they were me, if they had a performance coming up in 2 days, finals all week and were getting sent home enabling them more time to study. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on what the hell was going on.

I left my building, still insulated in thought, walked down the street I’ve taken a million times, wondering what the hell was so wrong with me that I could not only cry (as I don’t do often) but could do so in public (which I NEVER do).

I didn’t even hear them come up behind me.

I felt something push me in back.
“Empty your pockets.”

Steady voice, deep, calm. On the inside, I felt nothing. No fear, no internal sense of this can’t possibly be good. Instead I said the one thing that came to mind, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He wasn’t of course.

Thankfully, I’d left my phone at home because I was feeling anti-social, and only had with me the money I planned to eat with. His friend, the moral majority of sorts I guess, said from behind me, “Come on man. Let’s go. Don’t do this shit.” I gave him the money I had in my pocket without turning around. I heard the fading sound of footsteps behind me hurrying over freshly fallen slush. I stood, stark still, for what seemed eternity, heavy snowflakes falling down around me. I don’t know how long I stood there. I just knew that for once it felt good to be standing still.

I turned around and walked home, still somewhat unaware of what had just happened, my skin hot despite that fact that it was snowing and my coat was open. I climbed the stairs to my room, feet heavy, head down, walked inside and crawled into my bed. I lay there in the darkness, where it was ok to cry, ok to be upset about the realities of the day I just had. I cried for awhile, tears sliding down the side of my face and into my hair, my ears, onto my pillow.

And then it hit me.

Just how alone I am.

That was what upset me at work. What made me cry all the way home.

People take things so for granted. They believe that there is always a way out of anything, that there are always people that they can depend on if need be, that there is always someone there for them they can talk to, go to for help when they have troubles. They believe infinitely in the possibility of themselves, of the goodness of people, in the fact that no matter how bad things get, there will always be at least one person in their corner.

So what of the people who don’t have that?

I am pretty alone in the world. I didn’t quite know how to explain that to my boss. How do you explain to a stranger that ever since you can remember you have been taking care of yourself by yourself? How do you say that you don’t have anyone to call to help you out in crisis because you have learned too hard and too often that people are only temporary? How do you explain that you are putting yourself through school alone, that you take care of yourself, pay your bills, make your own way alone and that you are trying to handle that all the best way you can and would appreciate if someone, somewhere gave you a little room for human error? How do you explain that you don’t have very dependable parents, not those kinda parents you can call and they can do things for you. Well rather, one who can’t and one who probably won’t. I don’t really have the kind of friends, for the most part, who really know me, and even if they did, could offer any sort of help to me on days like today when the world just seems to be too much.

In that moment, I wanted so badly to not be silent, wanted to much for the phone to ring, for me to have someone to call and talk to or maybe not even talk to… I wanted to badly to not be in that room, by myself, thinking about the fact that if something would have happened to me, no one would have known. I realized that I didn’t have not one person I could really call. Not because the friends that I have are bad friends or anything of the sort but because they don’t KNOW me, because they have their own lives they are trying to live just as I am trying to make it through mine. It is, I guess, the way that it is. Not neccessarily for the good or for the bad, but rather just is.

These are the things I know. People are transient, temporary. Especially when they are in my life.

I laid in that bed today and I started to think about the last year, the last few years. Some pretty bad stuff has happened to me in the last 5 years or so, some things I have never told anyone because, well, I don’t know how I feel about the transient nature of people allowing them to walk away with my secrets in tow. I don’t know why these things have happened to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve them. I can’t recall anything so intensely horrible that I just deserve the things I have endured. Maybe I’ve just forgotten. But I don’t think I am a terrible person. I try very hard not to be. But what becomes of the people like me, the people who endure things beyond the scope of what naturally occurs in a human life? What happens to the people who continue to get up every morning, trying so hard to be hopeful and positive and just to have the universe constantly turn their world upside down? Where do these people go? Do they make it? Do they make it alone?

I’m tired. Of just…dealing. Of not really living…just dealing with the things that happen to me, some because of wrong decisions I have made and most because of decisions others made without taking me into consideration. That’s all anyone ever really wanted I think… some consideration. Certainly, that is something I could use a little more of.

I just don’t know anymore. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I have tried being nice, being positive, being everything to everyone that everybody needed. I have nothing to show for it. I have tried being mean, detatched, cold, even cruel to people in an attempt to distance myself from temporary comfort. It has not helped. I don’t really know what other options are left.

Is a life really lived if there is no one in it to witness it?

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