Midnight at the Heart of It

I need to find my way back into the light. It happened so slowly that it snuck up on me yet so quickly that it felt like a blow to the gut. How did I end up in this place, this darkness that is so damaging and all-encompassing that I don't even know which direction I came from? I feel like I'm fighting, constantly punching at what I think are walls but are really just air and space. It seems futile yet I know I can't stop. I will hit my target one of these days; I just need the sun to rise a bit.

Random Orderly

I have my tea and my natural stress-relief pills. I have my sunrise-simulating alarm clock and my morning routine. I have my weekly meal plans scheduled a month in advance and everything is packed in individual containers and ready to go by Sunday nights. I have my designated objective for the upcoming week already mapped and set to launch long before Monday morning rolls around and the subsequent chaos ensues.

I have been an organizer since I could purposely place things in a semblance of order. I have always longed to make sense out of randomness, to keep like with like. I remember desperately trying to create a makeshift miniature closet for my socks when I was in grammar school. The only thing that kept me from achieving it was basic craftsmanship.

I've had a fair amount of practice and have all of the skills necessary to take this crazy life and make it logical. It is my forte and the type of task that brings out the best in me. And, I believe, it will be the one thing that ensures my survival.

Turtles and Whatnot

My goal is to start moving back towards the things that I love. I've become distracted by uninspiring time-sucks that are not necessarily destructive but are also not moving me forward. I've picked up unhealthy habits in the last three years that I've used to protect me from my own thoughts and fears. At the time, I needed them to fill in the cracks but I'm afraid if I don't move on soon, I will get used to comforting myself and forget how much I appreciate challenge.

My free time exists in short bursts throughout the week and in long, rolling hours on the weekends. I've put some goals on the back burner for now, realizing that I can't do everything all at once. My perfectionist brain would love to master all I'm passionate about at the same time but my realist brain has taken the wheel lately; it knows I need to make choices; it also knows I am a very thoughtful and calculated decision maker. Slow and steady, I'm fighting my way to success.

Spinning Plates/Tunnel Vision

I'm trying not to shift my weight too much. I can never tell what will throw off my balance and I don't have the luxury of swaying not to mention falling. Everything on my very full plate is something that has a definitive purpose and losing just one portion of it would wreak havoc on my life right now.

I get questioned as to why I have so much going on and, depending on the audience, I give an honest answer or lie through my teeth. Just existing is exhausting, with each section of my day having its own restrictions and needs. There are days when, from beginning to end, it feels like I've lived four full days, hopping from place to person to job to hope.

I know this is a phase. I know there will be light at the end of this crazy tunnel because I can no longer see the light when I turn and face behind me. I'm in the middle and it's uncomfortable but fulfilling. Losing faith now would be a rookie mistake. I'm a veteran who has been in this situation too many times to know that the good I am seeking is well on its way.

The Disadvantages of Being a Sarcastic Wallflower

I'm starting to think that maybe I'm just misunderstood everywhere. I thought it was regional, an east coast anomaly, that my sarcastic humor and quiet nature weren't appreciated. But I may have been mistaken as the left coast is struggling to catch my drift as well.

Sarcasm isn't my crutch to ward off potential friends or relationships; it's how I've always gotten around. My mom tells me I have the same humor as her father who died when I was 7 months old. He was adored for his dry comments and deadpan demeanor. "He's Irish," they'd say, giving him a strange ethnic-based validity that I rarely receive. The most commonly used explanation for my personality is, "She's a bitch." 

I've been described as an enigma many times throughout my life. I'm not overly-reactive; I don't always have something to say; I'm an observer and a thinker and a processor. I used to revel in my perplexing prowess. It made me feel unique and mysterious. These days, it just makes me feel alone.  

Reminiscent Heartache

I should have known when I saw you looking through me, from my chest to my spine, after only three weeks. It wasn't a stare, just a glance, but it felt like indifference in its purest, most basic form. Yet I continued on because I have faith in things that no one else does. I have boundless faith, especially if it may eventually cause me harm. I am the eternal optimist, keeping the good in the forefront while sweeping the rest aside until there is so much of it that it crumbles over me like the breaker along the shoreline that I thought I could ride but ended up pummeling me instead.

I should have known when I was kneeling on the sidewalk outside my house, vacillating between sobs and pleads, simultaneously begging for you to stay and demanding that you leave. I wanted to be held while you walked away so I let you assume both roles: villain and savior. Then we were both confused and that was the ultimate comfort. It allowed me to remain stuck because you were stuck, too. We were twins, shadows following each other seeking guidance and truth but receiving only blame.

I should have known when you called me broken on the last night of my 37th year, which was a good year for me. One in which I found I could not only get by without you, I could thrive without you. I felt the most whole I had felt in years that night and yet you still saw pieces. For someone who claimed to love me so much, you assumed that's what I wanted: to be loved. But all I really wanted was to be heard.