churnaling

may the 18th, 2023, two days before my sister's birthday. she will be 29. it has been almost three whole decades that she has existed on this earth. And she had twelve of those years with our father; she has existed 2/3 of her life without him. Who art in heaven.

i don't want to repeat the mistakes of our holy mothers, whose own trauma went on tearing at them, 

over time, causing the same pain.

i mourn the life i accidentally imagined for our children.

one where they were not guided by dogma but by ethics. a system in which every equal part is understood as the whole, and we all agree that capitalism is not the way. that oppression is not the way. and that there is plenty of abundance to be distributed equally, yes even if that means that some people have a bit less than what they have now. because humans did figure out how to consistently extend beyond what they needed and into a world political power that perpetuates the prejudices and fears that locked up gallileo.

i don't know how to accept the fear i have for our children, but radically so. despite my heart

breaking every day.

i have to step away from it. i have to let other feelings exist. i have to leave room for joy.

but it is really fucking exhausting. and that's just me, with my privilege, crying my white tears on a thursday afternoon when i'm on PTO, recovering from a depressive episode that brought with it the familiar passive suicidality. and i knew what to do. just wait it out. don't make any big decisions. maybe don't worry about work for a day. and it passed. but i have been crying a lot.

my body is still bleeding regularly. my poops are pretty good. i'm a bit dehydrated as usual, but i've been making the effort to eat well, and tryiing to move my body around when it tells me it wants to move a certain way.

the tears feel so multi-faceted. like there are so many things i end up trying to process, and that's what overwhelms me. and also just the sheer weight of love in my heart ends up welling into my eyes, and i cry. it comes out. sometimes i wonder if i'm making up for all the times i didn't cry. there were different moments when i don't understand why i didn't cry. what i was feeling. a degree of accptance, i think. and just youthfulness, not grasping the finality perhaps of it, because i hadn't the same level of connection with the people who were dying, having only a handful of years with them as a child. there's more gravity to death during a certain part of my life, in terms of...in terms of what. death is always heavy, but there are times when it is obviously more challenging, such as when things happen earlier than we expect. we expect people to live to be old. but old comes on faster for some than others. some folks have the privilege of living to be very old, and very comfortable. in my eyes that doesn't happen often. but for half my family, the people died young. my aunt. my dad. my cousin. all different types of death, but all "too soon." 

but i don't think we're all supposed to be here for the same length of time, because on one hand time is a construct anyway, and on the other i subscribe to the idea of reincarnation since...energy...and it makes sense that if life is about the experience (learning), then we all have different lessons we're here to collect, and thus the amount of earth time we each have would vary. 

but i do try to enjoy the time i have here with people. when i'm depressed i don't even want to hear anything that would make my mind think more, because i can only go to the fatalistic, hopeless places. to ask me to consider a different truth would be to invalidate the emotions that accompany my depressive state, and that would only make me more depressed, having no way to effectively release that anger because i know that violence is not the way to communicate...but i isolate for that reason. because i need to give my mind a rest. and pretending to listen to someone else in that time is a waste. it doesn't serve me, and if i only serve the other person, that reinforces the whole worthless narrative and the anger i have about how women are conditioned, thus perpetuating a cycle of thinking that supports hopelessness and a desire for violence.

every day that i work i deal with people from all over who are also working. they are trying to complete various tasks over the course of a day, and within that mix of busyness, they are interacting with me, whom they expect to resolve an issue they are having with the technology they use on another piece of technology, using wifi. it's pretty crazy when i think about it, and i think about it a lot. 

it's very challenging to maintain any degree of realness when you are paid to essentially be immune to assholes, masters of kindness and empathy, and also an adequate enough wordsmith to convey the ideas you need to as clearly and concisely (both together) as possible.

and it is tiresome, regardless of how skilled you are at that, to perform for people who are also performing (and plenty who aren't because they're rich enough not to have to the way the rest of us are). 

my sister is turning the age my mother was when i was born. and i am at the start of my 5th decade on this planet. i have a job that pays alright, but i am still subject to crushing student loan debt, wondering how i will afford medical care for things insurance does not cover, feeling unsafe as a woman in certain spaces, feeling unsafe as a queer person in some spaces, feeling unsafe as a neurodivergent brain in other spaces. 

i have nurtured my own spaces, and i am grateful that so many people genuinely enjoy having me be a part of their own lives, their own journeys through the beautiful, dumpster fire of life. i loathe having to perform. i loathe being constrained by the mistakes of our forefathers, that patriarchy still shining down on us daily. it's challenging to combat the fury settled deep into this body, valid and strong, while also nourishing the softer and peaceful parts of me that only wish to enjoy having a body with senses. the balance that we all talk about wanting to achieve looks different for each of us, at different points in our lives, and because we have a structure dictated by money, we lack the social structures necessary for happy, thriving communities. they find their way on their own through mutual aid and such, but the systems in place have worked against community for centuries. 

harboring that idea that i am only one person (it's not all mine to bear or to fight; activism has many forms) and that i am powerful, simultaneously, is also challenging. i don't want to feel disempowered, but i also don't want to feel the stress of never being enough because the problem is not mine alone to solve...(still comes back to community, and working [building relationships with] the people who share common goals and values)...it is a balance of self and one. it is not a disconnect; it's a plurality. we are each whole and also part of the whole. we are not of one mind, but out of the many...

It might be very white of me to deny the dismissal of self, the individual. i understand that there are cultures who value the culture above all. but i can't help but think of what that actually means as well. is it because they believe their ways are superior to others? or simply that they have a strong goal to preserve what has allowed them to persevere as they have for so long? what is the hold of cultural practice? if not survival. but don't we attribute the cause of things falsely pretty often? what if the things we hold onto aren't really worth holding onto at all?

spoken like a true person whose past wasn't just wiped out. i just don't know it because haven't cared to. i knew enough to recognize there were parts of my tree that were probably horrible and disgusting, so i didn't need to know all those folks or what traumas and health issues they passed down to me. the psychological effects of my grandparents were enough for me to contend with, and throw in the death of various friends and family members--by the time i was 12 i had already spent some time encountering and deciding about death and life. 

cut to me now, somehow in this apartment with some dude i went to high school with, going to see another dude i went to high school with and his wife, whose some dude we didn't go to high school with, but who had a completely unrelated childhood. it's a wild ride.

but i'm proud of me for getting through another bout. i'm proud of me for not being too hard on myself for what i knew i needed, and proud of myself for telling people no, even though my brain tried to make me feel like a waste of space sometimes, or like there was really no point. that i was allowed to derive my own sense of meaning, and that it really was a meaningless waste of hurtful, painful time. and i just let those feelings exist, and watched a lot of television. actually i had slept a lot. because all night i had anxious nightmares. i should have been documenting what i was eating and drinking to better understand if that ever gets triggered by something, because now that i think about it, i feel like lack of sleep that night may have been the most significant factor in my brain being totally bonkers. 

anyway, i'm proud of myself to doing what i needed to, even though mental health is not seen as a valid thing in many

may 22nd i am still reflecting on the long weekend i had. friday i spent brunch with my mother and sister, in a busy restaurant. it was my 3rd time since covid eating out, and the first place i have been to that was crowded. it was jarring, regardless of the potential germs in the atmosphere. but i managed to have a lovely time, and the food was delicious. and the older i get, the more i do appreciate good food being made and delivered to me in a seated position. it's luxurious. i still had diarrhea, but it was lovely time spent. after brunch, we went to hopie's house and spent matt's lunch hour with him and hope and their 2 cats, umbre and andromeda, sisters, black calicos. hope describes one of them as a picture someone tried to draw of a cat, and the other a strangely drawn cat. they have unique faces, inquisitive eyes. they are magical creatures, and i am glad hope and matt adopted two more after the loss of our beloved pandora, who lived a good, long life with different members of our family. 

my mom and i got to chat in the car. it's nice spending time because i am good at being present, and just allowing the conversation to ramble and wander, dally and shift. she asked if i wanted to go look at the apartments she had told me about in zelionople, but i saw that it was getting on 3pm, and needed to get to the post office before they closed. 

i got home, stopped in to grab my checkbook and my expired passport, went back to the post office, and the woman working there helped to take my photo and put together everything. i got a book of stamps there too--i always buy a book of stamps when i go since i don't go often. but i was so proud of myself for managing to get the passport renewal form sent in with everything. and i returned home to relax the rest of the evening. 

saturday, initially i would have had plans with my friend who lives in new york, but her trip to mexico was delayed on the return, and she was still in mexico. we planned to resume our playdate in june. so i filled the time instead with a visit to my other friend's house, who is going through a divorce, and who i have not been able to see in person much since the divorce officially became a thing. i was glad i was able to spend time while she had the house to herself. her kids were at their grandparents' house for a few hours, and she had just planned to order pizza, but i gathered the ingredients to make a tortellini dish, and took the salad mix that i needed to use up. it turned out wonderfully, and our other friend came too, so all 3 of us women sat at the table and ate together, and then talked.

amanda and i were sharing sexperiences. she got all riled up. i felt a bit riled too, which was especially odd because usually i'm not horny after the one time right around when i ovulate. i was lying in bed, feeling like i might sleep, but trying to make up my own porn in my head instead. so for some reason i have been feeling more turned on. it's not a bad thing. i don't feel too inconvenienced. but it's peculiar, and seems related to the intense depressive episode that i also experienced. i mentioned to my friend Stacy that i began ovulating immediately following the last day of my period, which seemed very odd. she said it sounded like i was going through what she had gone through a couple years prior, as part of perimenopause. i won't mind if my period stops coming every month. even if it does take a little while for my body to completely stop having a period. but the hormone fluctuations are akin to puberty, and it's funny to be going through that at this stage. the idea of involving anyone in that feels tiresome and like a total inconvenience. a turn-off. at this point, the fantasy is definitely more gratifying than anything irl. 

it's the last day of my mini staycation, and i have therapy in the late afternoon. i have had a hard time with exercise, as usual. but i have been intentional about still moving around. like i found myself doing some version of crunches in bed, and then just moving my body in ways it seems to tell me it wants to move. i am not sedentary, though i have been resting a lot since the depressive episode, and i'm not going to be mean to myself about that. i have needed rest. there have been emotionally draining things. managing is tiring. and i do it consistently. i had wanted 2 days of rest, and i feel like i was able to accomplish that yesterday and today, and hopefully continuing to be kind to myself will support my overall wellness.

i spent thursday evening with my friend and his wife. it was a lovely time, and it was nice to hear more from her. up to now, when i met with them, she tended to be more quiet. but sitting in her apartment, and after a glass or two of wine, she seemed very comfortable, and shared a lot with me about her own life and background. we all talked about the failures of capitalism. we talked about travel. we talked about living in the city versus the country. she had salsa and fresh guacamole and some cheese. we walked around their parking lot to toke shortly after i had arrived, and then just coasted along conversing for a few hours like we were all old friends. 

so i had 3 lovely sessions of socializing with different people i love in my life, and then 2 days to recuperate from all that socializing. i got to make delicious food, and i got to cook for my girls, and that felt really lovely as well. i was able to have that weekend because i canceled with my other sister for sunday. i knew i would need rest, and i didn't want to risk another sleepless, anxious night followed by a depressive episode like i had last weekend. i also recognized at some point that i am coming up to a time of year when my body is going to remember different forms of grief. i got covid at the end of may last year. i had to say goodbye to tina at the beginning of june. my grandfather passed in august, but was frail and fading by june of last year as well, and i remember how terrible i felt not being able to be with him more. and i've been grieving the childhood i wished my nephews could have as well. so there is a lot i've been processing. 

but it wasn't lost on me that being tired from spending time with my loved ones is a kind of tired i can tolerate. it's a good kind of tired. it's a type of tired that comes from doing work that i really want to be doing. it is time and energy well-spent. it nourishes my spirit and my heart. 

i feel fortunate i've been able to take a long weekend every other month or so. ideally once a month to have at least one extra day tacked onto the weekend is nice. just some extra time to unwind. 

i do tend to plan time with friends and family most of the days i am off work. because it is a priority for me. but so is time alone, and that's why i don't particularly like making plans after work most days. i need time to myself. 

and then there are days (not as many any more), when i have had enough time alone, and it's healthy for me to get some interaction to take me more out of my head. 

there are not many things that i have been able to be consistent about as an adult, and nurturing the friendships that are important to me is one of the few. if i can get to the point where i nurture myself consistently first, then i'll feel like my life's work is...not complete (because it's always ongoing)...but i'll feel certain i can die happy.