Up at four in the morning because I once again can’t sleep. Insomnia. It’s the best.
I’m thinking about a lot of things. Maybe it’ll help to get them out on paper– or whatever this is called. digital paper?
1. Depression: I can’t be in this city anymore. Not being able to walk anywhere, do anything; it’s killing me. I… I seriously don’t think I can keep doing this. I’m going to do everything in my power to move back to my hometown for a year once my lease is up in August.
2. Loneliness: I have zero friends in my area. Really, I have two, but they’re always busy with work, school, hobbies, and volunteering of their own. But it goes deeper than not having friends.
3. Identity: I write often about how my personality is dying. One example is that at this point, I don’t even know how to talk to people. Even the most casual gossip/opinion/analysis is distorted (actually, clarified,) by a Buddhist lens. There’s a director’s cut behind my words that’s thinking, “Don’t believe your beliefs; don’t believe your beliefs!” It’s great for not being a jerk. It’s awful for trying to maintain relationships in 21st Century America.
4. Not knowing how to talk to people: This one deserves its own paragraph. When I say that I’ve forgotten how to talk to people– it’s bad. I don’t talk about the SnapChat or the Facebook or that one picture on that one picture site because, guess what? I can’t see pictures, and I really wouldn’t care even if I could! I don’t read web-comics, most websites are inaccessible, I don’t have opinions on very many things, I don’t have hobbies (besides reading, which is solitary,) and I have absolutely nothing in common with, well, anyone. At least, anyone besides people like Aporia, Diana, Reven, and my other friends who all live hundreds or thousands of miles away. But I don’t just need friends, first I need to learn to make friends, and before that, I need to learn to have real-life conversations with people. How do you learn to talk to people when you have literally nothing to talk about besides a job/school that makes you furious and Buddhism that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself? If I knew, I wouldn’t be writing this.
5. Fury: I’ve been in straight-up rage mode for about an hour. No immediate reason. Just that beautiful and psychedelic mixture of insomnia and depression that peeks its head out every once in a while when you’re desperately trying to sleep before a 10am commitment. God, how I loathe commitments. But man, I’m furious with my school program. The students are great. The instructors aren’t terrible. But being a blind person in a program that’s written by sighted people, for sighted people, that implicitly refers to blind people as stupid and helpless at every turn? I’M DONE. I’m so angry, and all I’ve been trying to do is tamp down my fury so that I don’t get kicked out of the program. On second thought, no. I’ve been trying to tamp down my fury because I have it in my head that being angry about this is somehow against my Buddhist vows/identity/self. And yes, I know, doing something because it feels like what you should do is nothing more than spiritual materialism, but look: Buddha doesn’t care if I beat a hoe down with a chair for saying that 70% of learning is visual, and therefore blind children are 70% less capable of learning than their sighted classmates, but I do. I do because no matter how great it would make me feel in the moment, I’d eventually recognize that another creature was in pain because of my actions, blah blah blah, and that would bite. But for real? What the heck is wrong with these professors? If I were a woman in a Women Studies program which didn’t have any women professors, and the men professors had never spent time with women, had never read books by women, had never investigated a woman’s perspective on literally anything, had only read and assigned books by men authors, who openly devalued the perspective of women because, “Well, they’re women, how could they know? They’re clearly too close to the issues,” and had no women students in the program, I’D BLOW my FUCKING BRAINS OUT.
I’m angry. I’m depressed. I’m exhausted. I’m friendless, apart from people who I can only see once or twice a year. I don’t have basic life skills like conversation-having or relationship-building. And I honestly don’t think there’s a way out until August, and maybe not even then. It all depends upon where my program decides I’m going for my student teaching. If there happens to be an internship available in the area of my hometown, amazing. If not, then I won’t be able to move until December 2016, and that would mean breaking my lease and spending an unplanned $1,600 that I don’t have.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m making headway in some areas while completely falling apart in others. I’m not anxious much anymore. That’s cool. But I’m wrapping duct-tape around my skull in an effort to not let the darkness spill out in a lava-filled lake of hate and rage. I’m angry. I’m alone. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I have no idea what to do.
And it’s all part of the journey.