Low in Skirting the Edge of Sanity

Ah, remembering the old lectures about if I didn’t like the job I had, I should just get a new one. All the interviews, the resume workshop, the applications, and so many rejections. Just get a new one. So then I would have nothing, and I went into some truly solid debt when I would just leave a job and had nothing really lined up in its place. Just get a new one, though. So I did, and each one sucked just as much, really.

Now, I have work that isn’t killing me daily. Only once a week. (That would be Friday nights.) Plenty of people do this work, and we’re all just trying to get on with life.

I know it’s hard to believe me when I say I have an invisible disability. I’ve been so thoroughly brainwashed into believing it can’t be that bad that I actually let the shame about my life not being “great” or whatever get to me. I still let it get to me.

I wasn’t meant for anything great. No one is meant for anything at all. Those that make it to the top of the big piles of caterpillars (*Hope for the Flowers reference) had/have a support network I never had. They might not be able to see that network because it’s all around them. The old joke about one fish asking another “How’s the water?” and the second fish says, “What’s water?” comes to mind.

And really, there’s no fucking objective “greatness” out there. You got a lot of people all subjectively saying something’s great, and people take it for granted. But in the end, I’ve known great people whose damned careers are not the majority-subjective “great” that has been demanded of me. I’ve also known a lot of shit people who were near the top of that pile.

Status. What a pile of shit. “I get to work with so many great people.” Well, that’s great. There are over 7 billion humans. Not everyone gets to be in that narrow field. And yet, there are plenty of great people. Just not the majority I work with. Their fear of the dreaded Other and contamination is intense. But just because I work with them doesn’t mean everyone’s like that. I’m not like that. And I have to make money. This world is now founded on this need for a cash flow. Shelter, food, clothing, transportation all require an income.

And incomes are not as easy to come by as you used to lecture me. That much I have learned quite well in 45 years. There’s no greatness conferred upon me by society. My heart remains fragile as a baby. My hope remains firmly planted in one day making life better for everyone, and not just a few with some ridiculous status. Even in the midst of great despair, I have an optimistic eye on when the pain will pass. I reject your need for status.

I reject these ill-defined standards. I leave behind my curiosity about the piles of caterpillars. I’m going to go find my cocoon. You can pretend this subjective “greatness” means something, but to me, it’s as pointless as lens-less eye glasses. Greatness is a racket. A pyramid scheme. Nothing matters.

What if I was born south of this border? What if I were trying to make life better and instead thrown into a camp? What would you lecture me about?

I am okay. I was born north of the border. I have a job that pays enough to sustain me, though I admit I’ll never have a $4 million dollar home constructed just for me. I have my own car. I do not worry about food. I don’t worry about my kids’ education (except for what the right it trying to do to it.) I don’t worry about my water. I don’t worry about anyone bombing me. I might be a little cautious because they let every yokel with an anger management problem have an arsenal, but even there, I’m not really worried. The statistics are still low, in a pure numbers way. (I worry this may not always be the case and hope to staunch the bleeding, but it is not likely I’ll be shot, right now.) What if I had been just a little bit different?

Would you have been lecturing me about my inability to “rise to greatness” then? Because I am very, very aware that I have some gifts, but I am also hemmed in by the mental illnesses of my parents, my own illness, a lifetime of poverty (albeit less risky than billions of other people) and inability to fit in with the religion of the region (people say I can just pretend, but I can’t. I tried. I sobbed uncontrollably at the bullshit and fear-mongering I heard in the pews.) Being born here didn’t assure me of this superficial “greatness.” And my brain fucked me all up, 80% of my life.

Just get another job.

It’ll be just like this one, though. Because I’m not “great.” So fuck off.