vortex of chaos

There is something so frustrating for me about friends who love and care for me in the midst of what I like to call my Vortex of Chaos. It’s the moment in life where all the odds are stacked against me: practical experience of learning what it’s like to sit with people (aka ‘be a therapist,’ aka ‘internship’), work and the odd hours that occurs for me (6 AM – 3 PM), which means I don’t sleep much, still not having space in my life to spend time with my people, lack of sleep, homework, PMS, and a messy room/apartment. Yes, Vortex of Chaos. So my friends see my tweets and call to check on me. Two offered to do my laundry for me (and you know it takes a secure attachment to someone to say yes to letting them wash your delicates). One actually offered to drive over from Bellevue to pick my laundry up, wash it, and bring it back to me (shout out to Mel, my heterosexual life partner!). Another actually picked up my mountain of laundry, 2.5 weeks of dirty clothes, from my apartment and I washed it at her place the next day.

Yes, the kindness of the people who love me is frustrating when
I cannot seem to love myself.

There is something holy about a shared meal with people. Eating food together feels like the great equalizer for humanity, which makes me think Jesus was doing something cool to eat meals with people as much as he did. I had breakfast with a friend this morning that, since she graduated, I have not seen in a while. I eat meals twice a week with the ‘clients’ at my internship site. I had dinner with another friend last week that felt so wonderful, so delightful, and the food was super good, too. There’s an investment of time that happens with the sharing of a meal that we loose when we only have drinks or coffee; you know something is meaningful in a culture that values speed and excellence when you have to take at least an hour out of your day, if not more, to do something as simple as share a meal with someone.

Yes, holy indeed. 

There is something infuriating about feeling trapped. This odd experience of not being able to say what you’re really feeling or thinking because, on some level, you are so afraid of the other person thinking you’re a bit bitchy. I can feel the words just below my throat, pushing to come out, stretching my neck and dying from lack of oxygen. The moment I realized that the bus system is changing in a way that makes it harder for me to get around the city leaves me feeling trapped in my own neighborhood, unable to access life as I have known it for the past 3 years. This leaves me wrestling with, “Is 20 blocks too far to walk to catch a bus? I’m so furious with it, but is it really that bad? I mean, I’d have to leave home at 5 AM in order to catch the bus…

surely 20 blocks is not as bad as I feel like it is?

There’s something saddening about having to buy a bicycle for the first time in over 10 years, knowing this isn’t going to be for funzies. Riding through the darkened city at 5 AM to get to work on time, flying down the hill and praying the traffic lights don’t turn red and hoping that you have enough reflective gear on so that people driving cars can see you since you heard people at work talking about how, “… it’s not about if you get hit by a car, it’s about when…” and knowing that would be a life change for sure since you don’t have medical insurance and wishing to some Higher Power that you can actually remember to breathe while you pedal and hopefully the huffing and puffing won’t wake anyone up and maybe this will get easier dear god let this get easier. Being confronted, once again, with the limitations I have put on myself by not taking care of my body, by over eating, by laying in bed and watching Netflix… oh yes, and there’s also the reality that no matter how comfortable that cushiony gel seat is, my vagina will never be the same.

Yes, sadness is what I feel.

 What do you do with all of this?

What do I do with all of this?

I’ll let you know when I figure it all out.

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2 thoughts on “vortex of chaos

  1. I LOVE that you eat with your clients. Great equalizer, indeed. My vagina has to readjust to my bike seat every time I don’t ride for a couple months. It gets better, but never fully comfortable. I haven’t gotten hit by a car yet, 7 years into regular commuting (3 of those to a coffee shop in the dark at 4:30am). I’m glad you have people offering to do your laundry, but I’m so sorry you’re in the vortex of chaos.

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