The year of staying in

Stop sign

2020: Do you have any plans this year? Yes? Too bad. Cancel them now.

I’ve left the house twice since March 6: once for the dentist, once for the doctor (both in June). I’ve walked to the mailbox, but I don’t think that counts.

I no longer have lunches out, which was one of my real pleasures: an escape from the work-at-home monotony and a chance to see people other than my parents. I don’t even get take-out, sadly. It feels too risky.

I had to cancel my annual writing retreat — pretty much the only week of the year that I have time with friends and get to write. I have to wonder if it will even be safe to go next year.

It feels like the last four months have been much, much longer. And there’s no end in sight.

We knew 2020 was going to be hard, but this? This is next-level. And it’s probably going to get worse.

Scorched earth

It feels like 2017 is trying to take all it can from me.

Some of the losses are small, and some — like losing my aunt to cancer — are too big and fresh and complex to process. But it wears at me, feeling like life keeps taking things from me: not just things that are or have been important to me, but also little things that provide some continuity and stability during a deeply troubling and stressful year. I feel like life and circumstances keep pushing and testing and taxing me, and each time I feel like I’m at my limit, life hands up a new challenge, threat, or loss. I’m exhausted, worn thin.

We buried my aunt two weeks ago. It went as well as could be expected, but it was still difficult, stressful, draining. We endured nearly two months of being told she was getting worse, that it would be soon. We had two weeks of hearing that it could be any day. We had more than two days of hearing that it could be any hour. We jumped every time the phone rang.

The person in the casket was a stranger, unrecognizable.

We were largely spared drama from ill or estranged family members, and for that we were grateful.

We were mostly spared the bad weather from Hurricane Harvey on our drive down to Mississippi. We were not spared from the fact that it was my father’s birthday, and we were driving for hours to bury his sister.

My father was not spared from eulogizing his sister. I watched my father, who rarely ever shows sadness or grief, falter as he spoke, the emotion clear in his voice, and I wondered if he would be able to finish. I gripped my mother’s arm the whole time, willing him to hold together. (He did.)

We were not spared the images of flooded Houston, the bad memories it sparked of Katrina, the knowledge that my aunt died on the anniversary of Katrina, twelve years after she took us into her home for weeks.

We were not spared the worry of Hurricane Irma, knowing that our family members in Miami did not evacuate. (Thankfully, they’re fine.)

I was not spared returning home to a looming work deadline — an immovable, government-imposed deadline — for multiple projects, including two that I’ve dreaded all year.

I got handed another loss tonight. I won’t try to explain it, because it probably wouldn’t make sense, and it seems small compared to everything I’ve mentioned. I suppose I feel it more deeply because of everything that came before.

Earlier today, I read some Facebook posts from a friend, written last night. She’s deeply, deeply depressed and feeling hopeless and worthless. I tried to reassure her as best I could, because I’ll cast a rope for a drowning soul even when I’m submerged myself. Another person told her to get a good night’s sleep, that things would look better in the morning. She responded that they wouldn’t, and I can relate; when you’ve been pushed past your limits, one night doesn’t even begin to undo the damage.

I just hope there will be enough nights to heal all of us.

Not yet

It’s probably no secret that I’ve been feeling very frustrated with life for a while now. Part of the problem is that I feel like the Universe is constantly pushing back, putting roadblocks in my way whenever it looks like I might start making progress. Either something goes wrong or there’s some delay or setback, like the world is saying “Not now; not yet. Be patient.” And I’m really, really tired of being patient. I’m not very good at it, I suppose.

Woman standing with her arms crossed says
(Not my GIF.)

There’s an old saying that good things come to those who wait, but it doesn’t feel that way. There’s always more waiting to do. And there never seem to be enough good things to justify the wait.

Still here, still trying

So… I haven’t blogged in a while. A very long while, as it turns out. I blame depression, anxiety, health issues (both mine and family members), the world being on fire, and other problems/issues that have been sucking up my energy and generally making life very, very difficult.

Most of this I just can’t talk about. At least, not right now. The work stuff and one of the personal situations I doubt I’ll ever talk about online — work because it’s not appropriate, and personal because that situation isn’t something I want to talk about publicly. (Friends can DM me on Twitter or FB if they want more details.)

The one thing I will say is that one of my aunts is dying of cancer and will probably be gone by the end of the month. Her condition has deteriorated rapidly since they did a procedure to put radiation directly into her liver. And we found out last week that the cancer didn’t originate in the liver but in the pancreas. (That’s basically a death sentence.) So the procedure only weakened her and made her condition worse. I should add that this is the aunt who took us in for weeks after Hurricane Katrina — so there are lots of complicated memories and emotions tied up with thoughts of her. It still feels kind of unreal, probably since we haven’t seen her since Christmas. Dad went to see her a few weeks ago, but only he and his youngest sister went; my cousin felt like her mom wasn’t up to seeing many people, and she could only manage a very short visit (less than an hour). I’ve accepted that I won’t see her again, and I think I’m okay with that. I don’t know that I want to see her in her current condition, and I know we wouldn’t be able to have any conversation that would mean anything. I wish our last visit had gone better — I was too depressed to interact with her in any meaningful way — but she was a saint, so hopefully she understands.

I thought 2017 would be better than 2016. Clearly, I thought wrong.