Rudderless.
Well not really. More like a limp, flaccid barely functional rudder that you don’t even recognize. Your rudder used to be strong, hard, and cut through anything in its path. Now here you are, apologizing and making excuses for how directionless you are.
The last 48 hours were really rough on me. Call it the “perfect storm” of simultaneous physical, mental, and emotional dickpunching. I flew out of Key West feeling… actually pretty good. Almost… optimistic.
I’m happy that writing has become such a good outlet for me. Aside from how therapeutic it is, I’ve found that it helps OTHER people as well. When my generation grew up, our parents just didn’t talk about mental health or “feelings” – My mother is 70 years old and still doesn’t think anything is “different” about me, even though she’s known me… pretty much my whole life. I used to have my own special “bin” in kindergarten for when I finished all of my work and was bored and needed more. I was ADHD before it was cool, dammit.
I really appreciate people checking on me. I always say, “Hey, I’m a trooper” and I am. But sometimes, those people need the most support at all. Nobody looked at Robin Williams and thought, “Oh, that poor tortured soul.” because he masked it so well.
The point is – most of the time we have no idea what the person next to us is going through. Right now it might feel like a lot – But it won’t always. Pain is temporary. Chicks dig scars. There is always tomorrow, even if today sucks a bag of dicks.
You aren’t alone. It gets better. You matter. It’s ok to not be ok.
Spiffy Speaks 