So much drama

I can't remember the last time I was this freaked out about my life. 

I could expound for HOURS about the state of my life currently. SOOO many layers to my messy existence, it's literally all I can do to get up and go to work every day (and keep myself looking 'decent' in the process). 

I'm exhausted but I can't sleep, I can't concentrate, I have no drive to do anything, I don't leave my house, I don't want to talk to anyone, I hate everything and everyone, I'm angry and bitchy, yet am "this close" to tears at any given moment; and one of the biggest things: I'm not eating...or actually I don't want to eat. Nothing sounds the least palatable (something extremely unlike me). 

I hate living in Dallas (I've always hated Dallas, but truly, it's pure laziness that is the reason why I'm still here...and no money of course), and I really have no friends to speak of. Oh, I have acquaintances that I sometimes hang out with, but they're not really my friends. They're 'fair weather' friends who have neither the time nor inclination to join at many of the things that I'd like to do. And I don't know if this is a purely 'human issue' or an individual issue, but it seems that no one--and I mean NO ONE--whether they're friends or family, truly understands or "gets" me.  I have no one of a similar "ilk" to do things with, nor do I have the money with which to do it. Catch-22.

I don't want a boring life. I just want a life less ordinary. 

'Sherlock' has actually opened my eyes to another list of "10 things I hate about..." namely, the stupidity of people/my friends/our country as a whole (see my previous post about the tragedy of American language). Maybe I should have moved to England years ago, but the show (and Benedict himself - read up on his background - he's so well-rounded as a human being, it makes me weep) has really fanned the flames of my Anglophile-ism. It's brought out such a LOVE of well spoken language, smart humor (or is that humour?), the art of linguistic repartee, sharp wit, the levels and layers of language and its meaning. None of which we seem to have here. Everything is so stupid, vaccuous, shrill, immature, ebonics-ridden, and uber-casual to the point of absolute linguistic sloth. Add to that the problems of our society being both hyper-critical and hyper-sensitive to everything that is said, and our language and humor gets beaten into the ground, for fear of 'offending' someone.

All I know is that I feel like I am NOT. GETTING. FED.  I don't know where to do, what to do, or where to even LOOK to help me fill this gaping "humanities hole" or whatever it is, that I feel like I have inside me. Some days I feel like I might take up singing. Or painting. Or acting. Some days it's techie stuff. Other days it's foreign languages. Others, interior design. Many days I wish that my parents had forced the arts upon us more. One of my saddest regrets is that I don't know how to play any instrument, nor speak a foreign language (been in Texas now 30 years, you think I'd have picked up some Spanish). I do so wish I could play the piano. Shoulda woulda coulda. :( 

I'm also infinitely sad that my life is now 3/4 over yet I have nothing to show for it. No home. No husband. No kids. (well, the kids part I still don't really regret) No success. No fame. No FORTUNE, obviously. I have a hard time reading about anyone who has "money to burn" when I can't even afford cat food...I'm so tired of the living the transient apartment life, but don't want to (nor can afford) to put down roots because Dallas definitely ain't for me. Never has been. Now London...it's all right there. Don't even need a car.

ALL THAT BEING SAID, I'm not stupid enough not to realize that all of this may be caused by my depression coming back. With a vengeance. And this time it brought along a friend called 'Menopausal Hormones'.  And apparently they don't like to play nice. I had weaned myself off my depression meds months ago because I didn't want to keep taking drugs, and didn't like the fact that I was feeling...well, nothing in particular. Not happy, not sad, just...blah. Vacant. Unfortunately, my own wonderful doctor is retired now, so I don't have any doctor, period. Nor can I afford to visit one ($35 co-pay? Nope, can't even afford that). So basically, I'm just "maintaining existence" and nothing more. I put on a good act, everyone thinks I'm doing just fine, I keep the office humming along, but like a duck on a pond, beneath the water my little "internal duck legs" are churning the water into foam inside me. Whoever said that being a Christian would make life all happy clappy and amazing, full of fluffy clouds and little chirping birdies...was SORELY mistaken. Just makes me want to punch this guy in the head.

I tend to throw "pity parties" like this now and then but this one is pretty significant. Although I'm sure there will be more in the future. That seems to be my le chemin de ma vie.