[1135] Fuck Me

For the first time in quite a while, I've been in something of an anxiety hole for several hours. It's been brewing, but a comment/joke my friend made sort of sent it into overdrive? I don't know, my head's not where it needs to be.

Very little seems to "just work out," in my life. That is, I make plans, and until relatively recently, I had absolutely no one who I could trust to follow through on them besides my dad. I could drag someone out to a rushed or not-that-into-it outing extremely occasionally. Anything to do with work or something "professional" went to shit in dozens of ways over many months. Alone, I can do little bits of things here and there, or make the drive, or spend the money, but at the pace of someone alone.

In a very important sense, I feel extremely alone. This in no way speaks to the support and time spent with my people, again, relatively recently. My psychology is built on the idea that pretty much everything sucks, is broken, is trying to fuck me, or is waiting for a moment to send me spiraling the second I try to hope or believe. I don't know how many years of security I would have to live in order for this not to remain true about me. I am primed for disaster, and when that storm of influences throughout the day and living circumstances add up, I'm back, miserably "home" in my propensity to panic.

Of course, as an older person who's developed a habit for writing, "panic" looks a lot different than it did years ago. The experience isn't fogging my brain entirely, my heart isn't racing, my stomach barely drops, I'm getting out ahead of my jaw clenching before an overwhelming headache creeps in. I'm breathing deliberately, stretching my mouth, and searching for the story of why my life isn't actually a plane spiraling towards the ground.

I've said a number of times that had DCS not turned into a bleeding hellscape of wanna-be police and judgmental aggression, I'd probably still be doing that job. I loved using power responsibly, decoding the scariness of the State into actionable steps for my families, and juggling what's fundamentally too much work for any remotely healthy individual. I was really fucking good at it, I knew my place, and I taught myself I could fit, somewhat, in an environment I was absolutely convinced was not for me. I applied to a case manager position in Spencer.

Do I think they'll hire me? No, not as long as Laura is anywhere near this region's management. Here is precisely where the panic-spiral thoughts might begin.

I did NOTHING inappropriate, "cheating," illegal, or remotely questionable at my job. That is, besides develop a strong opinion about how we should and should not treat families. This got me blackballed from beginning my own case managment company that was 1 day away from getting contracted with DCS until Laura showed up. That thing I'm good at, with developed relationships all over town, and an eye towards bringing that efficiency and value to more people was shit on just as consciously and deliberately.

That's a bit of a shock to a newfound angle on your identity. I pivot to doing counseling things. Lo and behold, the same negligence, overwhelming schedules, disorganization and disregard exists across human services. So, again, I look to venture out on my own. Who do I pick a battle with next? Insurance companies, and lying middle-men who waste over a year of our time not getting us empaneled with them. What don't I offer? Any harm-reduction medication. What do people want? To find themselves stuck and comfortable in something familiar and bills their insurance.

I'm here after years of fighting to do something I've a proven track record of doing incredibly well, but for myself, or for a wage that allows me to get things like health insurance and a decent car without debt. My options are to either join almost perfectly corrupted greed and negligence machines, or stare into the void of a million other specialties that I'd have to spend weeks learning the language alone or semesters, and money I don't have, getting newly certified in. I can join these places and pay 35% of my already pathetic salary to keeping a car alive and donate approximately 75-85% of my free time in service to them in one form or another.

It's hard not to feel like I'm being unfairly punished like when I was a child. When I ran up against my mom's ego and insecurities is when I got the most shit beat out of me. It wasn't that I was so offensive and particularly destructive as a child. It was when I wasn't willing to submit. This wall of intransigence and proud smug gatekeeping and obfuscation throws me back into childhood. It's as visceral a reminder that nothing makes sense and nowhere is fair as I can ever get.

I know I'm not alone. The whole fucking world is addicted, anxious, depressed, or right on the verge as we all pretend to play middle-class. But that's the nature of your suffering, it's yours, and if you developed a habit to do so from a crippling loneliness tied to your fruitless efforts to belong, be recognized, or god forbid excel, in the words of so many condescending cunts, "good luck."

It's, somehow, even harder once you've tried. I have money from people who have seen the value in what I do. I have dozens if not well over a hundred professions from people testifying and explaining what my impact has been on their lives. I have hundreds more bullshit explicitly not supportive blown air up my ass sentiments about how important the work I'm doing is and what a meaningful and blah fucking blah job I'm doing. Something, somewhere, in this fucked up universe of ours refuses to just let me do what I'm good at and be evenly compensated for it. I don't get to balance. I have to swing between extremes because…anyone?

The living environment that allowed me to save the most cash was wholly precarious, changing constantly and without notice. The "most stable" jobs I've had require the complete subjugation of your will and morals. The most lucrative for the amount of time and effort drug studies require me to keep my fucking heart rate in check which went wildly out the fucking window the exact moment I had everything paid off and was gearing up to live on the land with thousands in the bank ready to go. That was years ago and I still suffer that "white coat syndrome" just thinking about screening. I had done consistent back-to-back studies for 2 years before that moment.

I would do nearly ANYTHING to just "keep my head above water." I don't care if it's counseling. I don't care if it's working for $5 an hour just doing all the little shit you hate to do. If my bills are paid, my time is mine, and I'm working towards something or someone that meaningfully represents my values and what I've been striving for my entire adult life, I will make it work. I dream of getting to work with my dad on the grave cleaning business. I keep half-joking, but not really, about being friends' personal assistants who have better access to funds. I've spent countless hours researching roles, niches, "weird" ways to scrape buy that don't cost more than they're worth.

I should be talking to people. The value they profess should have me never thinking about how the bills are getting paid or any amount of debt. In a world that made any fucking sense ever, that's what would be happening, and would have kept happening since I left the State in 2020. My last job should have honored the contract they hired me under and made me fully remote so I could have comfortably paid for the indefinite transition period of being a stable-enough non-profit.

I compound my suffering because part of my story is of scaling back, to again the extreme, my expectations and expenses. The last couple years notwithstanding, I've needed $5,000 to $10,000 to "basically live" each year. That's without health or home insurance. That's without a car that's likely to last more than a couple years. That's in my fort in cousin-fuck Indiana. That's eating many, many ham sandwiches, hotdogs, and tacos. I've spent almost my entire adult life trying to cut back, save, or wait for the moment I was "more stable." You think part of my spree to see "every band and comedian" isn't the recognition that I'm going to be 36 in less than a month and I've still got approximately the same problem I've had since I was 16? I went to like 6 concerts between 2007 and 2020 and saw a handful of comedians at The Comedy Attic.

I compound my suffering in knowing my capacity. I learn fucking quicker than shit. You give me the directions or coherent instruction and definitions, I will master whatever the fuck the thing is you do in less than month during business hours. No job exists that is so complicated some asshole didn't learn how to do it, and your particular field lingo and acronyms can be digested. You don't follow policy, just the 3 or 4 you've egregiously fucked up in the past or whatever's been updated that year, and only for the first few quarters. Numbers? Give me the 12 equations and 3 pieces of software you use. Documentation? I worked for the State. I can memorize dozens of forms.

I have the energy. I have the intention and will. I've ran so many experiments. I've spent so much money trying to fill in gaps in my perspective or for alleged "professionals" who can talk in circles and deliver nothing, but command insane hourly rates. I've tried working with friends. I've pitched myself in service to time-consuming work for family. I've tried enabling girlfriends. I've tried doing several odd-jobs concurrently while donating plasma and filling out online focus group bullshit. I've put in dozens of applications for anything remote to the tune of hundreds of spam emails. I just don't fucking know, dude.

There is nothing screaming louder at me than what feels like a perfectly noble and reasonable position of being the supportive, knowledgeable, energetic, accountable person I've been able to demonstrate across my roles be it social work or otherwise. WHY CAN'T I FIND A PLACE WHERE THAT MATTERS!? Dan Price is the only mother fucker on the planet trying to make it so?