Inspirations

I am inspired.

Yes, I can honestly say those words without flinching or feeling like a pretentious boob. I’m totally inspired, and I can equally exclaim without batting an eyelash that I didn’t expect to be ever again.

So, what am I inspired to do and how did this all come about? Well, it’ll take some background here. 

Let me explain…

After 3 years of agonizing unemployment, no steady income, no sense of self at all, I managed to quite suddenly land myself a solid gig. I’ll get more into this later but suffice it to say, there was a lot of relief involved. Not only was I looking at losing my home if it lasted any longer, I was slowly losing my mind which wouldn’t have been good for anyone, least of all myself. As I grew a shell of hopelessness, uselessness around me, I wondered if ever the day would come that I didn’t feel those two particular emotions.

In retrospect, I don’t think it was that I missed working (who the hell would do that, really, if there were other options and it was willful?), I knew eventually if it wasn’t one thing it would be another that would have me worker-bee-ing again, but it was just an all-around sense of absolute nothingness that got to me. I looked around and saw no purpose of being. Every day I opened my eyes but didn’t comprehend the purpose of that simple action. No one needed me, no one was looking for me, no one was impacted by whether I was eyes-opened or eyes-shut. I would lay in bed to stare at the ceiling trying to come up with something to do, something that made me feel as if I had a reason to get up.

Pathetically enough, there were many times when I stayed just where I was with my chest feeling as if a 100lb boulder lay right there, smack dab in the center which suffocated but somehow it went ignored. Not totally ignored, I gave into it but emotionally I decided to shove it into a closet somewhere thinking I would deal with it later. Mind you, I knew I was in despair but wasn’t always willing to acknowledge it to anyone, not even me. I find that a bit bizarre since I’ve always been in-tune with my true emotions even if I failed to admit it aloud. Those days though to turn my face away from the depth of my sorrow was easier so that I didn’t cave into those demons that told me to do some fairly horrible things to myself. Sometimes just turning on the TV and getting lost in whatever drivel was there saved my life. 

Or there was the option of logging onto Facebook, which I did…a lot. It should come as zero surprise to anyone that it was my one gateway to the world, to not being so isolated, or feeling so damn invisible even while that’s exactly what I wanted to be, isolated and invisible.

I used that particular social medium to make others laugh or think, cry or consider, basically whatever I was feeling was somewhat conveyed through the words I would bang out onto the screen. I wanted folks to know yet not know. The duality of my own personality confounded me then as it does now. And even as I punched “publish” with some feeling of satisfaction, instantly after I was again deflated, dare I say bereft? I got positive reinforcement through simple thumbs-up emojis and when I felt particularly angry about life, I took it out on hapless victims. I became a troll and was unapologetic for it. Rather, I felt totally justified even as that too, left a sour taste in my mouth. So, while I was doing something, it wasn’t necessarily something that brought me any modicum of pleasure, other than momentary. Sadly, after some of these episodes where I would rip some douchenozzle to shreds, I couldn't always look myself in the eyes, that's just how appalling I had been.

But hold on, let me not delegitimize those bonds I did create on FB over these personal tumultuous years. They were and still are real, virtual or not. Some gone, yes for sure, but others stronger and so valuable because they were there for me without realizing it. It was astounding to realize that while some knew me ‘in real life’ couldn’t quite connect with me, while there were these other souls I had never met face-to-face who knew me at times better than I did myself. As those who actually had met me asked why I was so vested in these online ‘personas’ my go-to response became (with a sneer), “they’re no less real than you or I when we get online”. End of story. And while I did use the platform as an escape, I also made some long lasting, I-see-you-and-get-you precious connections that I can say are, as far as I’m concerned, the forever type.   

But even while that was all there…

My daily routine had become get up, listlessly make coffee, listlessly choke down food, listlessly turn on the computer, listlessly (along with pessimistically) apply for jobs, then listlessly do whatever else I could think to do like laundry, cooking, gazing out the window wishing I was brave enough to walk into traffic and just end it all. That last thing was actually always a blanket over my world. Why wasn’t I braver to just give into the temptation of permanent escape? Even then, even with that, I was losing. I didn’t have the guts. Now, in hindsight, I realize that it wasn’t a matter of bravery at all. Quite the opposite in fact, I was brave to just stay breathing, or at least I think. I don’t know.

Anyhow, back to explaining inspiration, which isn’t always an easy task. I was posting all kinds of things on FB, writing out thoughts with alacrity, knowing precisely how much I wanted to reveal, as I also (attempted) to finish writing a book that I had started almost 8-years prior. Two things that I was doing, FB and book. Not bad, all things considered. However, and here’s the ah-ha moment I had, through all that writing, the one thing I wouldn’t touch was this blog – the very thing that had at one time brought me probably the greatest joy and satisfaction. Seems odd, right? Not totally, if you know me.

I'm fantastic, absolutely jaw-droppingly beyond amazing good at denying myself happiness/pleasure. Yup, I'm that girl.

On FB, I only spoke of what I wanted to disclose, never my personal, truly tortuous struggles. Those made me uncomfortable to admit to anyhow, so I resorted to alluding to them - VagueBooking as it's popularly called. Writing the book, well that was an alternative world anyhow where I could dump all the fantasies I wanted sans judgement or anyone’s input. Nothing in the world of storytelling was wrong other than the limitation of one’s own imagination and since mine was always a fertile breeding ground, it was a natural outlet. 

However, my blog, this thing right here…ultimately, it’s personal. Very personal, and I’ve always felt a super profound need to discuss the weightier topics because although I post the link on FB, I know beyond maybe 5 sentences no one will really read on unless there’s some sense of dedication, vesting. Asking anyone to go beyond 2 minutes (which could be tough in itself) of reading time could be requesting for too much, which was exactly why I gave into speaking of cavernous pains, recalling ever-lasting poignant memories that shaped me, confessing thoughts I wouldn’t otherwise want to speak but if someone were to stumble upon the post, wasn’t afraid of them reading either. But those three years? Those thoughts were so very murky that writing them down scared me witless.

My blog, in essence, became something worth avoiding, not embracing.

I wonder though, had I continued to post would the road I’ve traversed been somewhat easier? I’ll never know, I don’t want to live in the past. Whatever I went through was what I was meant to experience. I just hope that I took from that long dark tunnel, the lessons I needed to learn. I think so.

While I did my best to avoid blogging, revealing truths, sure that there was nothing bright in my future, not even a tea-light worth of luminescence, somehow the days slipped by and there it was: a job. It came on like a speeding train, breaking through all my fears and rejects. Quite suddenly I had hope, a glimmer, a flicker, a spark. Truly, without any expectations, I had a reason to rise up, in more ways than just a simple old bed. It came on so swiftly and unexpectedly even while I waited for it, sometimes with patience, sometimes with rage. But one day after an interview, one single interview, not multiple ones, I received a call 2 short hours later that I had been hired. I was standing in front of my dressing table cleaning up the mess of jewelry there. Indian fancy stuff that I had probably used for some party or event. My fingers had become nerveless as I dropped a handful that I had been holding. My body seemed to numb, I sat down hard on the floor with eyes wide open in shock, the legs I used every day suddenly unable to support the frame I had been carrying around for 45-years, as I whispered into the phone to my recruiter, “are you sure? This isn’t a joke?”

Suffice it to say, it wasn’t. Proof is that I sit here right now, at work, typing out this blog as I wait for comments of a project I completed. It still seems incredible to me that I’m employed. Nothing any longer seems to bother me. Too much work? Okay, bring it on! Long hours? No problem, at least I’m making a paycheck, right?! Ridiculous timetables and turnaround? Oh, I got this, bring it, bitch!

Admittedly, it still seems incredible that I have made it to this place at all and not having given into those black thoughts. Trust me, there were a lot of them also. But let me not speak of that, so not ready to speak of them.

Last evening, as I enjoyed libations and nibbles with a new but quickly trusted friend, he read one of my random blogs commenting that he had enjoyed the post. I forgot, legitimately, how it felt to receive praise for the thing that I really did think I was good at. He sowed the seed right at that moment that maybe, just maybe I could write again? Inspiration.

This morning, as I was driving into work, sitting in traffic jamming out to music piped into ears through buds, body moving on its own accord to some upbeat Hindi tune or another, I looked about to espy the other worker zombies like myself who seemed as if life had been straight-up sucked out of their beings. And guess what? I was thrilled to be apart of them. One of their ilk. I belonged. Yay me! Inspiration again.

So, here I am, once again putting characters to screen to write down thoughts, trying to live in these moments that have been awarded to me for it had been touch and go for a bit. I’m going to, at least try, to make the best of this. I want to observe more. I want to taste more. I want to live a lot more. I want to stop compromising. I want to stop making excuses. I want to stop settling. I wasn’t born to be miserable, I wasn’t born to constantly give up my own happiness for someone else, I was meant to be the most authentic me I could be without, of course, hurting someone else in the process.

Hey, maybe after all I did learn lessons, eh? Whodda thunk it!

This comes back to the inspiration(s)…why indeed I’m writing now, so many years after my last blog, besides those I mentioned above…

The main inspiration though was simple, it was just whatever inside of me has decided to live again. Thus, along with that inspiration came the will to write a blog entry. I recognize that this isn’t something ground shaking awakening singular only to myself, I’m in fact quite typical in behavior. Things go well, my mood is better, I want to type. Things suck, I want to crawl under a rock and bury myself under inches of dirt and crap. The whole point is, things are well. And after the last three years (god, I am so redundant), I realize that there is truly no shortage of suffering and heartbreak but if I could get through that, then whatever life decides to throw at me can’t break me.

Let’s hope it can’t, at least.

At this point though, it’s time to just start sharing again, until I can and when I can’t, I’ll stop.

Wish me luck.