That is one fucking bold bullshit headline.
Reflecting on what was and will be. I really don't care. Or I do care? Writing and reflecting may give me perspective and motivation. Sure it will. As much as this vomit reflection means anything to me or anyone else that’s what it will do: nothing. Though in defense of this post I feel better screaming at myself.
I was on my own this year (aka isolation). Seems like more of the same next year.
In no particular order of importance here's what is seen though my review mirror as opposed to the mud and bird shit stained windshield looking forward.
My volunteer crisis counseling continued. Since 02/05/2020 I'm now within a few conversations of 2,000. Humble brag of sorts a whoopee for me. Yup saved some lives. Gave purpose, at least for the moment, to many others. Allowed myself to strip the pain like so much paint and wallpaper off of many. Lost a few lives. I could go on and on waxing poetic about this work. (I work for free--volunteer) As the year closes this is getting a bit tiring. The corporate overlords are just the Micky'D's of mental health. They do save lives, change lives, give so much to those struggling in the moment. Bravo Clap Clap Clap. Still it's just putting out a couch fire for those whose house is engulfed in the flames of emotional pain. So much more to do. Doing my small part is something. I guess. Consider this Super Helper Syndrome.
Not sure if it's the end of the year doldrums or it's the coming use by date, the entire volunteer crisis counseling is getting a bit stale. Not the work of using words and connection to help another human. Indeed connection is at the heart of our humanity. That is there. I cherish it. Feel it deeply. Then there’s the environment.
The corporation feels vapid in its connection to volunteers. They slather cut and paste words and validations on volunteers. The blah blah blah of it all is wearing thin as my 10 year old jeans. I'll not attribute that to the corporate overlords not caring. I'd say it is more a corporation has goals to achieve and are focused on serving as many in need as possible. Over 1 million happy meals served this year. That's where revenue emanates driving donations and funding. There is only so much time in a day. You gotta focus on where the rubber meets the road. I get it. Still, volunteers are the drivers. Shrug. I guess I'm living in some fantasy dream. See me See me. The little prince syndrome. I guess watching those holiday commercials where the lonely old person is sitting at home being all Sylva Plath and the doorbell rings. There are the dozens of people who's live they saved or made better saying thank you. I swear to God I've not been day drinking. Just old, lonely, and profoundly annoyed at life scratching at the air to get a hold of something.
There is another volunteer gig I do. It's online school counseling with Jr. High and High School kids for the year or more. The students are participating with the organization via texting, sharing podcasts, messages, and chatting. The team members go on platform and chat with kids via texting. Unlike crisis intervention this is mundane and funny as fuck. Average working class kids struggling with teen shit. "How do I make friends?" "I want to ask a girl out how do I do that?" "I'm anxious cuz I'm singing a solo with the choir for the whole school." How refreshing and up-lifting. Beats the fuck out of I want to kill myself. Or I starting cutting again. Though those average kids have that pain going on. The difference is not being a platform dedicated to crisis intervention the window into a teens life is pretty wonderful. Though to be clear I love the rush of crisis intervention. I love devouring my insides like a carrion after a hard chat. Self-harm and compassion two skeins of yarn knitted into the perfect sweater vest.
Glad you asked about what I do the rest of the time. All I have is time sans meaning and purpose. I'm kinda sorta relaunching the memoir. Doing this time by being a YouTube creator. Don't roll your eyes. I like it well sort of like it. I have a whopping 12 subscribers. Most of which I begged to subscribe not sure they watch but hey my SM game is fierce.
Creating videos is okay it’s the thing cool kids do. Old dawg new tricks. I have an amazing video editor who makes it easy. Makes me look good. Well not physically cuz that ship has sailed. Makes the videos look professional. It does get hard to keep creating knowing it's meh to the world. Or more to the point, as much as I want to bring Donna to the world that’s not happening. That cuts me to quick. I will keep trying. That there is the rub, the fly in the ointment, the burr under my saddle, and the pebble in my sneaker. Keeping Donna alive. Making our story bring some hope, meaning, and understanding to others in the throws of loss and grief. I look at others and think, How do I see myself? How do others see me? How do I think others see me? Go figure that out? In the end it just might be inertia post dead Donna. Sigh who the fuck knows? I don't. I guess trying to sort that out for the next year will keep me alive. Shrug
My new shiny thought object is the film based on the book "Where the Crawdads Sing". The movie review in me says brilliant, emotional, touching, and powerful. The main character a girl named Kya Clark abandoned in a shack on the marsh as a child. She lives alone. Fends for herself. Learns to read. Learns to illustrate. My take away. She thrives in isolation with her art. She has some connections. Yet her art is meaningful and fills the isolation. Gives meaning to the isolation. Fucking all jelly about that shit. This post, my posts, the Memoir, and the YouTube Channel is a poor surrogate marker for art. Add to that the deeply engrained need to be social to counter my self loathing and I'll just say confusion reigns supreme.
So buddy, there ya go. End of the year. New year. Old me. Lost me. Don't like me me. Yawn This will not be social media shared just sit here fermenting like garbage barge lost at sea. Peace out scouts.