Nobody can do anything right
My mother died and now nobody can do anything right. And that makes me angry. “I’m so sorry, how can I help?” say the messages. How the hell am I supposed to know? “Sending love and light.” Great, that’s fucking helpful. “Your mother must have been an amazing person, to have made you!” Fuck off completely. I was disowned more of my life than I was accepted. “I’m here for you.” Oh yeah? My tire is flat, my nails are bitten to the quick, I can’t stop bingeing tv, I can’t afford my therapist, I only eat sugar, I almost stole valerian root because it’s like legal opium right? I can’t get off the couch, I can’t accept love and care. Can you help with that? Are you here for that? Will someone just get me gas in my car? I’ll pay, I just can’t bring myself to do the work it takes to put gas in the car.
It’s not just the people who know my mother died. It’s everyone else, too. My best friend is so worried about her boyfriend and whether or not he’s fucking other women. Fuck you. The person in line is having THE WORST DAY EVER because she was double charged for an item. Poor fucking baby. This person’s life is going great and they can’t quite accept it, you can eat a bag of dicks, shithead. Fucking wasting all their lives on petty bullshit when we’re all dead tomorrow. Or sooner.
And the world is dead. I’m only writing this to be right in March of 2033 when the non-linear dynamics of climate change are irreparably past the tipping point and the world is on fire and AI cut off the power to the poor people and release viruses to control population, and one failed satellite knocks the rest out of orbit and the internet goes down and the nuclear power plants melt down and oil spills into the already dead ocean and the tide is black and this is the only thing I’m fucking happy about because I already decided that all I’m going to do with my last ten years is literally whatever the hell I want but then my mother fucking died and I didn’t want that.
I wanted to heal from a lifetime of trauma and harm with her at the center of my orbit. Now I want to get high but I won’t because I’m trying to not be an addict even though I don’t get one more minute with her and I’m a real orphan now and I’m gonna sit in this pain and work through it because I’ll be fucking damned if I spend my last ten years in some dingy bar getting wasted and remembering nothing of the last glimpse of the insane and perfect beauty of the world that is just fucking wasted. It’s all so wasted. I’m just lucky I found the wild before it was lost.
I know I’m lucky about a lot of things and I’m not going to let the anger win, although I’m sitting in it so profoundly right now it’s like a dam broke and the rage is pouring out where there should be grief.
I keep telling myself “just because people don’t know how you need to be cared for doesn’t mean they don’t care about you.” I keep going to Buddha Church and listening to the bodhichitta within. I keep meditating and yogaing and dancing and petting the heckin rares. I keep reaching out to people I love. I called my therapist even though I don’t really have the money.
This too shall pass and all the cliches, and I’m not that angry about those because at least I believe them. I’m gonna ask my therapist why I can’t recieve care and compassion from most anyone. I’m gonna ask him why I’m so sensitive. I’m gonna ask him if my bi-polar is back, if the panic disorder is back, if I have some new horror of trauma. I’m gonna write here sometimes instead of watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. Which doesn’t piss me off at all.
I’m gonna read some grief books even though I want to always figure everything out on my own. I’m gonna try to go back into the world because I’d like to fall in love again before the ice caps all melt. I want to hold someone’s hand again. Maybe Jonah Hill. Hey buddy.
