UNOKAY
9 August 2025, 10:34
It’s early in the morning.
I like mornings. Early mornings. Early Saturday mornings. When no one in my house is awake. Nothing is to be done, or at least the feeling of something NEEDS to be done goes away for a while. I don’t think I realized that until I just wrote that down. When people awake in my house, then it all starts – that feeling that I NEED to be doing something or something bad will happen. Until then, I can sit here, hopefully before the sun comes up, and just exist.
This is usually when I cry. I cry about a lot of things. Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why. When no one is up and nothing is to be done, I feel like I CAN cry. I feel like I have permission to cry.
This is also when I talk to that imaginary therapist in my head. I sit and tell her things that I would say in a session I think, and she answers back. But its not a proper session. I will say something like “It all feels like its on me, and its not fair” and then the thought of “You have it better than most, so why are you upset”. Or I will tell my imaginary therapist about people I interact with, “She thinks she has problems, but she gets to go to an island for a weekend and stroll the beach, and she doesn’t have to worry about not having enough to pay the rent or eat. One of her “problems” is that her rival has a blue checkmark on Facebook.” The answer comes back to me as I’m petty, I’m jealous, I’m horrible person by not empathizing that she has struggles and troubles, too. But. These days, I have figured out that eating, and potential homelessness isn’t one of hers, so maybe I am a teeny bit justified in my incredulousness (is that a word? well, it is now) at troubles like that.
I have this imaginary therapist. I don’t think its a good as a real one, but its what I got. These days, I am having involuntary bouts of sharing my… angst and sadness. Mainly with a select few at work. I feel like I’m a broken record of complaining or some nasty envious person wailing about some imagined unfairness. It’s really coming out more. I need to locked that down more. I need to be able to cope. I feel like I’m a mess. I would like more time like I have on Saturday mornings to cry. Just to unshackle myself from the yoke. Just for a little while longer.
Right now. He is up. And I just want him to go back to sleep. So I can have a little bit more time. More time that I can divorce myself from life. More time for a little peace. I can escape from living in someone else’s mental illness for a while. And be. A little bit more time where I am the person I really am. A little time where I break out of the cage everybody puts me in.
I’ve done all right in life. Not great. Not like I should have been doing. I’ve failed at being successful. But I am self sufficient and fairly productive. I take care of my family and my business. I do what I can. I feel shitty because of all the gifts and breaks I’ve been given, I haven’t sculpted something good out of that clay. I have a good job, where I do all the things I love. Not many people have that. I have a diverse and weird bunch of people I work with, and have maybe made a real friend or two out of the bunch. But. I’ve had work friends before, and they’ve all mostly disappeared. So, I don’t know if things like that are real. I think I have a handful of real friends, but they are thousands of miles away. So, would they be real friends if they saw me everyday? Is that real? Any connections I’m making are limited ones. Because none of this is real.
I’ve done fairly adequate in adulting department of life, and am just realizing and admitting now, I have spectacularly failed at the relationship part. From those who I thought I loved, to those who I knew didn’t love me, and finally to someone I really don’t know at all. I am going through the motions, just praying from day to day it doesn’t get worse. Just don’t make it worse. And its a futile wish. I could sit here in and make a laundry list of my problems and what has torn pieces from my psyche but it won’t matter. It does no good. Whether I tell a real therapist or the imaginary one in my head, nothing will get better. I have been just going through, from one small victory to another. I know that if you look at them all, they are large steps forward, but I can’t seem to get out far enough to see the forest because of all the trees. I am realizing the hopelessness of my situation, a situation I cannot change, or maybe will not change because I’m not strong enough yet.
I feel as if I am breaking in half. I’m breaking in half, silently in the shadows. I’m desperately trying to find something to help me keep it all together. I’m so close to breaking down… or maybe I am right now. All this hasn’t been funny. Not even an attempt at joke in seven paragraphs. That’s really how I know I am not okay. I’ve changed the title of this three times; “Journey”, “Peace” and now “UnOkay”. I’m blogging in realtime my breakdown. This is insane.
I hear him walk around and I freeze up, tense up. I stop typing, because I don’t want him to know what I’m doing. Like I’m doing something wrong. I will be told that what I’m doing is wrong, that I am just trying to make myself feel better by pretending that I feel this way, or that I’m trying to make him feel bad, or some other such thing. To make all this that I think, I feel, not real. Not honest.
I just wanted some peace this morning. A little longer when I’ve divorce from all the world. Where don’t have to worry about anything. And now. I feel hooks in my chest, dragging on me. I really am not doing okay. And I’m writing all this. And what’s so goddamn funny, is no one will see this. Maybe that’s what is enabling me to say all this. Don’t know. But I feel it all hardening up, I’m already starting to tense up and put “it” all away, and can’t find in my mind what I was trying to right next. My inner editor now is gatekeeping what I feel is appropriate to write, what is proper feelings I should feel.
I am really not okay.
