I am never sure if it is simply my disposition, or the way I look at things that cause most days to end in, if not misery, at least sadness. My husband once told a therapist that I am bipolar but only seem to really have the depressive side, never the highs. This unfortunately is true. I see something beautiful, and while I may nod my head at the man who created such beauty for the most part I look at it and quickly look away. I have an honest belief that my demons are more powerful than my angels, and I am often convinced that it simply won’t get better. This erodes my self-worth, my self-confidence, and most of all the little scrapes of energy I can gather.
I am not sure if others do this; if others look at their lives and simply sigh in frustration. I don’t know if the person sitting beside me has to occasionally get in their car and pretend to be driving away from life, in a bid to capture a moment of freedom. I don’t know if the girl eating her lunch ever gets angry without cause, without reason and with great fear. I don’t know if the soccer mom ever questions every aspect in life until one has to wonder if they are getting anything done. But I do; I do all these things.
Life for me is a series of okays. It is a series of moments that will not stand up to history or change the way the world defines itself. My life is a series of events that are so often destroyed by a disease that cannot be controlled, and tends to subject me to the array of blackness that most people can’t see.
I don’t mind life particularly; I just don’t see the greatness of it. I don’t want to kill myself most days, I just haven’t quite figured out the point of me being here. It pains me that I have a life that doesn’t seem to change anything for anyone. It saddens me that some great being has decided this is who I am going to be. And it absolutely confuses me that my brain, my heart, and maybe my soul, can move in a thousand directions all at once, yet I am just sitting here. I often lament in this blog that I wish I had a quiet mind; I think I could get more done if it wasn’t all so noisy.
Most days I am not sure who I really am because of the dichotomy between my mind and my actions. In my head I am a go-getter, I am a person that never sits still and wallows. I am a person that has a sunny disposition and believes in goodness and kindness. In reality, my body has no idea what any of those concepts are.
For the most part, I see darkness. I sit and wonder about other people’s lives, and live in my dreams far more than in real life.
And I am convinced I have bad luck. My therapist will tell you that luck is made, not given. I truly disagree with this statement. I think there are people out there who are just lucky. They float through life without fear, knowing that the next job will come or the next paycheck will be right there. They know that there are friends to call, and they know there is always something that will come along better. Maybe it is their personal history; maybe life has trained them this way. I like to think that they deserve all that they are given, and good for them!
In my life, my husband won’t even let me stand next to him in the casino because it has been proven that he can’t win with me around. This doesn’t truly bother me as I am not much of a gambler.
I have always accepted that my life is unlucky. I get the little things like promotions or raises; but for the most part this universe simply tends to forget me. I like other people winning, especially when it is something weird like a year’s worth of soap, it makes me happy to see others happy. And I really like it when someone who truly needs the luck is given it. That makes me smile.
But the other day, I had a lucky day. I got a job, sold my house, and won the lottery.
Don’t let your mouth drop too far…it was great but not change your life great. The job is a temporary job, which is actually fine because I think I am going to like moving around and not allowing anyone to really understand and predict me. Every new employee is a great employee. (More about this later) We did sell our house, which is hands down fantastic. I am currently going through the paperwork to hold off foreclosure, so being able to sell it is even better. As for the lottery, I won thirty bucks. As it was a ten dollar ticket, I netted twenty bucks. Not bad for a lady who can’t even stand near her husband at a casino.
It was a fantastic day; and although it was fun, I don’t think a day like that happening over and over would be good. Would I be able to lose my normal misery if I always had great luck? Would I appreciate God and all that He gave me when I thought life was a lost cause? Would I forever remember one day in my life when something was different; or by becoming the norm, would I forget to try and appreciate those little moments of good?
I probably won’t get a day like that again until I am in my late sixties, at least if you do the math, but that is okay. If I do, and this time I win millions…I will probably spend it all on making my own dreams come true. And when even that doesn’t turn out great – or at least when my disease ensures that life remains the same, I will probably sigh and carry on again.