I’m scared to admit my true feelings because, if I dare speak them into existence, I am required to face them. Facing fears is not something I’m good at. Facing misery is not something I line up to do. Facing dysfunction is not something I’m wired to do.
But everyone does it.
So why can’t I?
What’s wrong with me? Why does it feel like everyone around me is moving forward with their lives, at rapid speeds no less, whilst I am sitting around twiddling my thumbs and getting sick over and over and over. Yeah, I know how to stop getting sick – stop hanging out with people who are sick. It’s kind of hard to do when that’s EVERYONE this time of year. But the rest of it, I don’t know how to fix something if I’m not even sure why it’s that way to start with.
Maybe it’s karma.
Maybe karma is kicking me in the ass for all those years of being an unruly teenager, dating a drug dealer, leaving the country without my parent’s knowledge. I swear I straightened out when I hit my twenties, but for a few years there, I’m sure I was the child, and sister, from hell.
I believe in signs from the universe. I guess I really ought to remind myself that the universe always balances itself out somehow.
It’s 1:30 am and I am awake because sleeping is hard when it’s hard to breath. I am, in fact, Sheldon Cooper in female form when I am sick. The difference between Sheldon and myself is that I have no one here to sing soft kitty. Everyone here just tells me to stop whining and get over it.
Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur…