I’m Not Okay

If we were having coffee I’d have to get a few things in order first. I’d have to grab my favorite hazelnut creamer and dump a generous helping into my steaming cup of Colombian goodness. I love the way coffee makes me feel, but, frankly, it just doesn’t taste that well on its own. Secondly, I’d inform you that it’s pronounced coffeh, because cool.

If we were having coffeh I’d, were I to be honest (which is something I don’t normally do when it comes to my problems because I don’t want anyone to think I’m whining), tell you I’m not okay. Physically, I’m always tired. It doesn’t matter how much sleep I get my energy levels are about as low as a car’s battery whose headlights were left on overnight. It takes me ages to get going in the morning. If I don’t have a cup of coffeh before I head to work I have to combat the sandman along with asshole drivers during my morning commute.

If we were having coffeh I’d tell you that, mentally, I’m feeling a little fucked up. On nights without my children I feel encaged by loneliness, but the thought of going out and meeting new people (or old people) terrifies me. Too often when I get involved with others I feel like I get tangled in their drama, and I don’t want anything to do with that. I can barely hold myself together. I don’t need to deal with anyone else’s problems. Further, it seems, for one reason or another, almost every relationship I’ve had over the last few years (friendship or otherwise) has literally blown the fuck up. I’m afraid to get close to anyone because I fear the pain that comes with having that person ripped away.

Were we having coffeh I’d disclose that because of a miscommunication between my doctor and my pharmacy last month I went about a week and a half without my meds. Since then my emotional state has been colored increasingly blue. I can’t remember the last time I was in a decent mood. I’ve found myself on the brink of tears multiple times in the last month with no real catalyst. Motivation eludes me. My free time is spent in front of the TV binge-watching Netflix. (BTW, Dark Matter is a pretty kickass show). The thought of participating in any type of activity is distasteful. I don’t like leaving the house. The thought of writing generally makes me feel…meh. I find it hard to care about anything. In my mind, I know I need to get my ass up and do things, but translating those thoughts into actions is damn near impossible. I go to work, I come home. I do my part-time father thing. Then, I’m lost the rest of the time.

Were we having coffeh, I’d tell you I’ve been listening to this song on repeat, because the lyrics of this song latch on to me. They encapsulate me. They make me feel. I can’t put those feelings into words, and I don’t even think they’re good feelings, but they’re feelings. I guess that’s something.

Were we having coffeh I’d tell you how increasingly misanthropic I’m becoming. I literally can’t stand most of what humans do. To the planet. To each other. To animals.

I can’t comprehend how an idiot like Donald Trump has an actual chance to become president. He’s a sexist, racist, babbling idiot who encourages his followers to inflict violence on people who disagree with him, but, hey, he “tells it like is” so that must mean he’s presidential material.

I can’t comprehend why mass shootings and gun violence on our city streets has resulted in absolutely zero changes to gun laws.

I can’t comprehend why the general populace thinks it’s okay to be so hateful towards anyone who disagrees with them. It seems the comment sections of our news articles have become the devil’s playground. Everybody seems to feel that the ability to hide behind a keyboard and monitor gives them the right to parade their inner douches around and that there will be, and should be, no consequences.

I can’t comprehend why men are so afraid of women who want to be treated equally. We’re all human, right?

I can’t comprehend why anyone would care who is in the bathroom stall next to them. We’re all just in there trying to let our bodies perform their required tasks.

I can’t comprehend why anyone feels it’s their business to choose who can marry who. Why shouldn’t two men (or women) be allowed to get married, have children, and then be torn apart by divorce? Shouldn’t all people have a right to obtain that American dream?

I can’t comprehend why certain people feel that their “religious values” need to be made into laws. It seems to me that those very same people have an issue Sharia law. Let’s face it, the rules of Christianity and Sharia Law aren’t all that different. Sharia Law just has more deadly consequences. I also can’t comprehend why those very same people don’t understand the separation of church and state, religious freedom, or that people who don’t want to be governed by religious beliefs aren’t persecuting anyone.

Were we having coffeh I’d tell you that my misanthropy has me on the edge of leaving the internet again. I get tired of the daily parade of stupidity, cruelty, and depravity I see online. Instead of being encouraged by movements for positive change I’m simply sad that they’re needed. I’m tired of seeing shit about the Kardashians and their ilk. I don’t have a single fuck to give about those people and can’t figure out why they’re constantly in the news.

If we were having coffeh I’d tell you that I’m moving next weekend, and it’s probably one of the reasons I’ve been feeling down lately. I’m moving a town over because the school district there is much better than where I live, and Baby C starts kindergarten this fall. All the packing I’ve done this past month has had me sifting through memories, and many of them leave me sad. I’ve found many a thing of my ex-wife’s while packing. I found our wedding pictures. I found pictures of C when he was a wee lad. I found pictures of the twins tucked a way in a box their mom gave me a couple of years after I left her. I found a picture Baby B drew for me when we got our first place after I left their mother. 

If we were having coffeh I’d tell you that I’m probably going to have to get a second job after moving. Doctor and dental bills for the kids are piling up and I just can’t pay them.

If we were having coffeh I’d tell you that I know I need to see a psychiatrist, but can’t. I don’t have the money to see one. I’d have to get a second job to afford that and if I get a second job then I won’t have the time to see one.

If we were having coffeh, I’d tell you that it was nice to see you and thank you for listening. Then I’d apologize for laying all this bullshit on you and feel guilty for burdening you with my problems and emotional turbulence. I’d likely go home feeling ashamed and we’d probably not see each other again for a long while because I’m anti-social, and I’d fail to reach out again because I’d feel like I’d alienated you with my incessant bitching.

Lastly, I’d peer down into my empty cup and lament the fact that I spent five bucks on one fucking cup of coffeh.