EVERYTHING IS SCARY, I HATE IT, AND IT’S OKAY, MAYBE
Well…it’s Tuesday.
Google has Biden up to 264 points, Trump to 214. I dare to muster a little hope, but mostly my energy is spent staying awake.
I…haven’t slept well in the last few days.
On the Sunday before Election Day, I found out I’d lost my job of over a year. The best job I’d ever had, hands down. With no warning or reasons other than the massive employer I worked for was “restructuring” my department and they were cutting the fat.
I remember ending that call and walking into the living room in a daze. I told my wife and the color drained from her face. The woman isn’t scared of anything and nothing surprises her, and that — that put her on the floor. We held hands and looked to opposite corners of our apartment, as if looking for explanation huddled there, hiding from us, hoping it wouldn’t have to answer for what had happened.
We’re trying to buy a house.
A few days before that, I went to my grandfather’s funeral, which should have been a decidedly sad affair, except I spent all of my time being horrified I would catch Covid-19 because next to no one had taken any serious precautions. Some, I knew for certain, didn’t think the pandemic was worth worrying about. So I spent the entire time doing basically everything but mourning the death of a loved one. Because that’s the world I live in now.
And a few months — years — before that…well, more of the same.
God. Four years. Four years I haven’t felt safe in my own home. This was before we were ever hit with a pandemic. Once dealing with a mental illness was manageable. You could go home, you could get lost in your hobbies and routines, and you could forget for a while that the outside world was becoming a literal burning dumpster. Therapy, medication, meditation, hobbies, rinse, repeat. But no longer. I don’t feel safe anywhere I go, because anywhere and everywhere could degenerate into, at best, chaos; and at worst, an authoritarian sh*t-show what would have made Orwell crap himself.
The future has never looked so uncertain to me. Where once I had direction because my internal compass tended to point true, I had no idea where to go. I barely know where I am now. So I spend most of my recent days on the couch, looking for jobs, constantly being distracted by election coverage, always fighting a nagging feeling that none of this matters anymore. Hope is so painful as to be resented nowadays.
…the problem is…I have it.
I wrestle a lot with this idea of confirmation bias. As a man of faith, which is constantly being poked and prodded, I also recognize this very annoying ability humans have: to steal from and paraphrase Dan Harmon, “humans can relate to anything.” By extension, we can ascribe meaning to anything. It’s a blessing and a curse. It means sometimes you can see great innate meaning in a thing, but you can also apply meaning where there is none. So when you’re a guy who believes in God, that puts a damper on the whole looking-for-signs thing.
Thing is…I don’t go out looking for this stuff. True, I might be inclined to see things where others can’t or won’t, but I’m not overly eager either. Most days I am actually content to think life is the mundane thing science and rationale says it is, and most of the time that’s enough for me. Even if lately reality has been — well, just really, really terrible.
But then…certain things happen. Call them coincidences, if you like. Certain things like finding this platform called Medium during a job search, where you can write basically anything you want and not deal with the restrictions you’re used to. Certain things like watching your favorite YouTube channel and having its host say directly to you something to the effect of, “Some people never express themselves…and I find that deeply saddening. If you want to do something, do it.”
…certain things like suddenly not having a job, and suddenly a lot of things to say, and not a lot of patience or pretense keeping you from saying them anymore. And maybe, honestly, a tiny desire to be paid for them.
The American dream, right? *nervous laughter*
I used to be one for sappy sentiment — heck, I still am, I guess, in my weaker moments— but I think I’ve left a lot of my past making these saccharine sweet points behind me. I don’t know that anyone wants that right now. I wish I could tell you things will get better, and I think given time, they will. But I also know that it rains on the just and the unjust, and bad things happen to good people. I have seen the corona virus take good men from this world and spare complete monsters. Life isn’t fair, but lately it’s not been very coy about it. I get it. A lot of people want comfort, but they don’t want it sugarcoated either.
So, brass tax: stuff sucks. I have bipolar episodes and psychotic hallucinations, and I’ve basically been mad for a month. I don’t know if or when I’m going to get a new job, and I’m scared to death that I’m going to let my wife down and ruin our chances at finally getting a house to call our own. People I love are getting sick from a virus that could’ve been prevented, by a demented man-child that they are still somehow happy to support. Biden isn’t much better, in some ways, but four more years of Trump will literally kill me, and probably a lot of other people too.
…but Google has Biden up at 264 points, and Trump at 214. We’ll see how well that ages.
I’m nearing the end of the first article I’ve ever written (well…sort of). I feel decent enough about it. Maybe it’s a sign.
I hope if this finds someone as worried and neurotic as me, that they take comfort in it. Someone out there is just as nuts about this as you are. But I have the sense of mind to also know: human beings can relate to anything. It’s how we find meaning, how we grasp big ideas, and how we can literally change the world around us for the better. We can still do that. I can still do that.
…it’s nearly Wednesday. I’m going to bed.
