Her Not So Typical, Typical Day

She grabbed her coffee and ran out the door as usual. She didn’t even get to drink it that day. So focused upon her duties at work in fifteen minutes. Feeling as if this is now the time for her to help others who came from her situation. Feeling this overwhelming duty to society, but at the same time, feeling as if she is pushing against the waters. Feeling as if the waters were trenched to a point which was unnatural and lacking in something. It was like being pulled in two directions, and watching yourself fight to stay together as who you are. She didn’t know why she had a different approach than other people, but she didn’t want to ask why, but rather keep going with instincts.

Her worst feared consequence happened. Packing up her desk, she thought of how her cup will be gone from the shelf, and no one after her would know it was ever there. But there would be pieces of her work. Pieces of research, pieces of her efforts. All now scattered like her brain. Her spirit removed from the environment, her voice silenced, and how difficult this would be on her confidence. Must regain confidence she thinks. Repeats throughout the day, while fighting the misconceptions about the unemployed. The misconceptions started from day one. The idea it is her fault. The searching in not just her own brain, but other people, near and dear to her. Their opinions like daggers. The daggers cut from the most contradictory, judgmental, stone possible. Further reminding her of the lack of understanding of differences between people. The lack of embrace of differences in general. Why condemn someone for not fitting your idea of ideal? She thinks.It never brings out the best in anyone.

She blames never protecting herself. Over the years, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Then convinces herself this is a whiny, self pity approach which again, results in nothing favorable. Is it normal to grieve? She realizes there is no real answer to this except in the person themselves. She should know, compared to the past, if her grieving processes have become longer. Is that normal with age? To suffer more over the years, and become less likely to get over the pain? All these questions whirl around without concrete answers. They are open ended questions really. The kind of questions people don’t want to ask themselves.

All of this questioning for what? For whom? Me? She asks. Is it helping? What helps?

She makes a list. Like a child again, but clearly an adult, she starts all over with herself. She realizes not everyone will understand her, appreciate her, love her, but she can at least love herself. Everyone is at least born with that choice she thinks. Some of us are born around fragmented relationships, like stray animals we run around trying to find our way, gaining scars, getting into fights, only to become humble with time. We take time to tame ourselves down. Life is not just an adventure,  but a struggle as well. She reassures herself everything will be okay.

Like some many others from a similar past, she must find a balance in life, so she can tackle the debt of past mistakes passed on to her. The past behaviors she never wanted ingrained in her mind as a child, past fears she should have never had at a young age but still remembers, past situations where she felt forgotten or misled. All of this dust must settle, but it never does at the snap of your finger, it takes time and effort. It takes rewiring your thoughts and feelings. A task she knows too well, but she has hope this will be the last time she will let herself be this afraid of life again. When you have nothing left, even fear cannot grip you.

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