Hiding in the Library

In the solitude of the library, I’ve found a corner to hide in.  No one is asking me to do anything.  I have a window view and the sky reminds me of the last month of my days.  Grey, not white, and now raining.  I brought my headphones and if anyone knew how loud I’m blaring Metallica’s S & M they would look at me funny.

But I look just fine I guess.  Middle aged professorial looking guy slouched in a quiet corner probably writing the next best-selling novel.  Except I’m not fine.  I don’t feel safe anywhere.  At home Mrs M wants me to “just” stop being fucking depressed again, and wants me to work at getting the house clean, while the dear daughter and son loaf and bitch about their homework or how tired they are of always having their friends bug them on the phone or in person.

At church I don’t feel safe.  I wore the mask today but I couldn’t sing and I barely paid attention.  No one saw me.  I wanted to say something in Bible Study and kept quiet mostly.  But I’m tired of feeling Psalm 119:99a.  I’m not being arrogant although it may sound that way.  I’m older, I have insight, the Bible study leader can’t prounounce the words, misses huge things I know about and they never even say anything about it.  I’m marginalized as a worship leader and then as a musician, with a microphone there for show but turned off, so why bother.  I quit doing that because I didn’t feel safe because I wasn’t appreciated at all, maybe God is trying to tell me something and I should listen.

Then the pastor makes some idiotic jokes and we’re all squirming awkwardly because it’s not funny but he thought it would be.  Or maybe that’s just me.   And when he finally gets to the point it just annoys me because I’m supposed to figure out that God loves me somehow.  He said the same thing that life has been telling me, that I’m not in control of anything.  If I trust Him it needs to turn out a whole lot better than it is.  If I were in a shred more control, I’d have a greater measure of peace, but that’s not meant to be.  In the music I felt safest, but I’m not safe at all.

The people at church we talked to asked about life because they wanted to pray for us and I really didn’t have any way of expressing this in a minute or two.  I just said it’s a lot of the same things it’s been for a long time and I said they could pray God actually helps us without further hurting us because I’m already broken.  And that was more honesty and self-disclosure than I wanted to offer anyone.  Mrs M said to pray I could find a better job.  So that was OK I guess.

I don’t feel safe praying because I asked God to show me He loves me and my teeth are still broken and my car is slowly breaking, already needs new tires and repairs and I dread the next repair bill, the furnace is still not repaired and it’ll be September soon.  And every time I pray that God will help me without hurting me, something else breaks, and again He has allowed something to hurt me some more and help is not on the way.

I don’t feel safely married because I want more than Mrs. M will give me, and I notice other women a little too much and sometimes wonder if they would.  I’m trying to ignore that.  I’m a little safer if I can pretend to not notice.  When I feel unsafe and I don’t have anything to give, that’s when my wife wants to take more than she gives. It would be easier if she knew how much I really need her to help me, but when I approach the topic of the best way for her to tell me she loves me, she’s mostly dismissive.

I’m not safe at work, because it’s politics and who you know (or who you blow) and I don’t, so I can’t advance like some others have.  I keep my mouth shut (there, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it) and do my work.  And I don’t like that when I ask other people to do their work, they either don’t do it, they drag their heels, or they push it off on someone else (me).  Every time I say anything they introduce me to a new system and tell me to do my job and theirs too, if I want it done.  Friday I carried two other people but I make less than either one of them, and I need three times the money if I’m going to do three jobs.

I’m rambling, maybe I’m not even safe in here blogging.

 

I hope you all are in a safe happy place, maybe you can tell me how to find one.

I’d settle for feeling more loved, by God and Mrs. M., more appreciated at work, but I need to hear more than words.

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10 thoughts on “Hiding in the Library

  1. First, that’s one of my most favoritest songs ever.
    Second, I’m hiding in my bedroom because I’m feeling undervalued and underappreciated so I can empathize (or is it sympathize, I don’t fucking know) where you are in your feelings with Mrs M.
    Third, why is it good people always get the shit end of the stick? (As one who does not personally identify with God herself) Have you tried asking/praying in another way about help? If I played the lottery, the tribe will have spoken on the beach, and all of the bullshit would be forgotten, and when a hurricane and zombies threaten we will hunker in the bunker. Yes, I did that on purpose. {Hugs}

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  2. Well, now I’m officially pissed for you. It just never ends does it, I understand about finances, never enough and always more needs than cash. I would say I’d pray for you but I’m not feeling it either right now. I appreciate you but the people that count to you, seem all about themselves. Isn’t life just a joy!! Sorry, I’m not helping you feel better, I’m kind of down too lately. Hopefully we will soon feel better!

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    1. I hope the same for all of us. I wrote it in a poem last week, I am supposed to be this paragon of Christian virtue weathering whatever storms come, but I’m honestly cracked and shattered in the crucible and it’s not making me stronger, it’s hurting every time something else goes to shit and I can’t do anything about it or afford to fix it. So, this is supposed to be making me stronger. Ha. Yeah I can’t quite get the results of the test right according to the standard of Christian virtue.

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      1. I’m medicine phobic, side effect phobic. Cyclothymia is different and can get worse if medicated incorrectly. I get about a 4 month cycle which isn’t even normal for cyclothymia. I’ve studied it and medicating for depression can cause rapid cycling and not cure anything. NTM, nausea and God only knows what other impact. So I have to defend my decision to not medicate to the doctor next week. I’m going to make a list to give the doctor that rationalizes my seasons of depression. And a list of things I’m not depressed about, just to be fair.

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      2. I understand completely! I’m in the process of coming off my cymbalta, because of the side effects. And it was not helping me anyway. I’m sure that is why I’m down right now, but I will get better in the long term for it. Good luck! Meds don’t always help.

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