On Selfishly Feeling Lost in the Modern Day
an admittedly vague and meandering title, i know, but what other words should i use to describe my current state? things are set in ways and joy is to be found but why is it that amidst all of this, at my quitest moments, i'm still left with this full-bodied sadness? my husband expressed concerns about my mental health again and suggested therapy, also again; and for some reason my gut reaction is to say "i've already gotten what tools i can out of therapy" or "i don't know how therapy would help me more than my creative efforts". i suppose i'm feeling the need to write into the void because i know that, in truth, i would find some help in therapy.
i'm frustrated with myself, as are most people i assume, in a general sort of way. i was raped six years ago and when i do find friend groups, i find myself antagonizing people with moral shortcomings and withdrawing before i get into arguments with them. i'm so often under the illusion that i can fix somebody if i just say the right combination of words. it's very difficult to see people who neglect their children, knowing that nothing you can do would make those children any less neglected. most likely, you'll make the parent upset by your questioning of their parenting methods and then they'll take out that pent up frustration on their child or partner at the end of that day. other avenues such as contacting child protective services will end in paperwork and lack of due diligence, and what if there is diligence? they end up in the foster home system and that's a world i know nothing of, but have only heard heartbreaking stories. so often it feels, that when i'm sure something is to be done, there is nothing i can do.
maybe i'm just defeatist and jaded at this point in my life, i'm going to be thirty soon and i've vocalised with conviction that i'm in a sort of mid-life crisis. i imagine those who didn't plan to see their eighteenth birthday might be familiar with the feeling. i don't have any grandiose plans for my life and i don't care to, i maintain that a slow, easy life is the best one i can live. find the least grueling nine-to-five, pursue my passions in my off-time and vow to never let my job define my personhood. perhaps in the distant past when we lived in villages where people provided genuine value to their community, one could take pride in their livelihood. now? retail jobs are a means to survive and nothing more. though i've had non-grocery jobs, i always seem to end up at grocery stores. the coworkers there are always of the same economic class, there's real comradery (especially when a union is present) and cashier work is among the least back-breaking labor one can find these days.
i work four days a week due to living with my husband and his spouse. triple income no kids is truly a bit of a hack to surviving this hellhole. my husband, my roomate and i scrape by working part time, but we survive. i'd rather scrape by and have free time for my hobbies than work always and have more money. i'm kind of losing the plot here, if there was one...
right, therapy. though i have more free time than most working adults, i feel awfully protective of the free time that i do have. getting out to a therapist's office wouldn't be too bad, but my experience of workplace violence and the aforementioned rape make things difficult. this is an excuse of course, i was more-or-less just as anxious about leaving the house prior to the rape and threats to my life in the workplace. these things have just made it even harder. it's like my walls are leaded and now my windows are too; used to that some signals could come and go, now it's fully blocked.
then there's the can of worms that is actually applying for health insurance. i've felt extremely de-motivated ever since my last attempt ended in me being issued "family planning insurance" or something with a similar name that i don't care to log into a web-portal and check. it felt insulting, being a trans person, giving me health insurance that only covers family planning is like a sick joke. it was more than likely just the right set of switches were triggered but it really does feel crueler than that.
i guess im writing all this word-salad as a means of convincing myself to get off my ass and apply for medicaid again. i suppose i'll try and have that done by the end of the week. depression is a bitch but i'm glad that i have my husband, he's always so good to me and i only hope i can be as good to him. i'm glad i have my passions; coffee, photography, sometimes music.. anywho it's getting late as i'm writing this. i'll try to write more often, a promise to myself more than anything. if there is a reader perusing this, i hope it finds you well <3 good night <3