(Quote from The Hunger Games/Mockingjay, of course.)
In the above mentioned book, we find our main character making a list of every kind thing she’s seen people do when she’s so haunted by PTSD that she can’t function. Well, I don’t have PTSD, but I’m pretty bad at functioning too. I was inspired by that chapter today.
Backtrack: When I’m especially bored at work, sometimes I read articles on The Mighty, which is a blog site for people with mental illness and disabilities. There are even a few contributors with “my” problems: anxiety/borderline/depression/suicidal thoughts/etc. I’m always interested in hearing how they cope, and it’s 99% the same answer: I know my friends and family love me. I rely on them.
But what do you do when you don’t have (local) friends? Or what if you don’t actually know what your family thinks of you, let alone if they love you or not? What comforts you then?
I don’t hate myself all the time. I don’t hate life all the time. If it wasn’t for the whole “might be homeless in 28 days” thing, I’d be pretty damn content. A tad lonely, but that’s nothing new. People are too easy to lose. They are all more concerned with their own children, their own lovers, but I still find comfort in things, in memories, in dreams. Like:
The perfect blend of hues on a watercolor paper.
When traffic lets me cross at a busy intersection. Bonus points if it’s a kind old person who waves.
Flying downhill on a kick scooter.
(I’m sad Charleston sidewalks aren’t maintained well enough to ride a scooter here.)
When the bus to work comes on time.
Selling sports merch to tourists who tell me about where they’re from.
Or selling sports merch to Atlantiens who will reminisce about the city with me.
Waking up to an email from Redbubble that says, “You’ve made a sale!”
A Bi-Lo rainbow roll after an 11 hour shift.
Thrifting on payday.
(The cashier at Stylez Exchange knows me because of my bright pink bike. He’s my favorite.)
(Spectrolite and ametrine are the best because one named my blog and the other is my online pen name.)
Entering sweepstakes, and the faint glimmer of hope that says I might win another one someday.
Reading about volunteer/intern abroad programs.
(If I ever win a good sweepstakes, I’m so doing one.)
Transcribing sermons and motivational speeches.
Charley’s Cheese Steak coupons.
Finding a letter in the mail that I wasn’t expecting.
The extra comfortable down-feather blanket the last tenant left behind.
Buying funny cat shirts.
The Young Adult Readers room at the huge downtown library.
Sunny, warm days in the middle of winter.
Staying up late with a wine bottle the night before a day off.
Nursing sick WalMart betta fish back to health.
Historical novels about familiar characters.
(Henry VIII/his kids/his wives –especially Catherine Howard and Anne Boleyn/Marie Antoinette/The Romanovs)
Horrible Histories skits.
(Stupid Deaths is the best one.)
Are You Afraid of the Dark reruns on Youtube.
When my older coworker tells me about what Charleston was like in the 60s and 70s.
Late night junk food after youth group.
Listening to Steven Universe in Spanish and understanding the dialogue.
South African pop music.
(Once, a song someone sent me that I barely understood told me I deserved better than hating myself over a guy and it’s been a great comfort ever since. I can understand more now.)
Staying up late to Skype Jimmy in Australia or waking up early for everyone else.
(It’s very rare.)
Getting an interpals message that isn’t sexting/spam.
(Also very rare.)
When my roommate shares his dinner.
Lighting a new incense stick.
(Fizzy Pop is best.)
Smelling the soaps at Lush.
(Lord of Misrule wins, even if it comes out green.)
Pens and markers that make my handwriting nice.
Befriending stray cats.
Saying hello to all the geese that live at the pond in my apartment complex.
and this blog. I know I’m usually sad when I write in it, but I get so excited when someone “likes” a post of mine, even if they’re only trying to get traffic to their own site. Then I feel less alone.