I’m an undocumented alien living in the United States. I can’t get a decent job, I can’t get around in a car, I can’t open a bank account, and essentially all these add up to me not being able to thrive in life like I could if I could try like everyone else. Schooling ended for me in High School. Jobs are these dead-end jobs like the deli job I’m working now. These dead-end jobs are jobs I end up working at for years. Full time. It’s not something I wanted for my life. Between depression and fibromyalgia sapping all the energy out of me and help being used up, I’ve gotten to a point where I was stuck and unable to make moves.
… or at least that’s what I told myself. After the breakup and after getting into this relationship, I’ve tried vigorously to progress. Even before this relationship, I was taking baby steps. I bought my own clothes. I supplied my own food. Sounds very simple and seems like it’s common survival skill, but it’s something I haven’t done. Ever.
I got new glasses on my own last week. Within this week, I went and applied for a new passport on my own. I’m exhausted by all these new progressions and I’ve passed out on the couch napping away and then sleeping the night away because of it, but I’m moving forward, and that’s what matters.
My new passport is going to be ready on the 26th. I can’t wait to go get it and start getting things ready for the DACA program. I’m not looking too far ahead, but I’ve a vague idea of what I need and I’m exciting to get them done.
It’s a nice positive cycle. Encouraging, and fuel to motivate me even further. However, this is like a stone wheel rolling along the ground. It is easy to force it into a crude halt. And it’ll stay there indefinitely if it does stop. I’m trying hard to avoid this.
I’ve learned being social is my poison. Having a social life is good, but only if you’ve either people who can be understanding or if you’re able to expend yourself into your relationships. I’m not saying anything drastic. Reaching out to friends once in awhile to say hi and to tell them what’s happening in your life. I hate doing that. And when friends come to me to discuss hardships, I give nonchalant replies or I avoid them altogether. I’m not a very good friend, and right now, that’s the least of my concerns.
My friend with the daughter recently reached out to me to tell me that I backstabbed her by dating her brother. And it’s fine that she feels that way. I’ll always validate anyone’s feelings. Even random emotions have a source, after all. Who am I to say someone should or shouldn’t feel a certain way. However, this was confrontation and I run for the nearest hole like a mouse when I get approached with it. Not the best response, but I do it. I will always apologize and approach it calmly, but if I feel the conversation has cooled, I won’t pursue it further. Which is exactly what happened. I apologized, I told her it’s not my intent to upset her, she told me she loved me, I said I love her back, and she told me it’s all going to be ok. That was apparently very wrong of me to not reply to that. She approached me again yesterday telling me the friendship is one sided and that because of that, I’m not a friend and that she reached out to tell me goodbye. I asked her how she’d like to work it out, she said we couldn’t. So I let it go. However, it doesn’t sit well with me. I’m still anxious about it even now and get depressed if I dote on the thought. There’s no real reason to, I understand it’s illogical and regressive, but I feel anxious. I’m sad. I’m angry that she’d approach this in such a manner. And I’m also sad I am losing friends.
But in my effort to combat the sadness, I’ve returned to facebook today. Not to socialize, but to mark my milestones in my life since I’ll have a ton of them piling up soon. Combat the negativity by forcing yourself to see the positive. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch, but count your blessings.
I’m going to live until 30. And then I’m going to try to 40. And then after that, I will try for 50 and so on. I’m going to continue progressing vigorously. I’m going to fight through the fibro, the depression, the borderline, the schizoaffective, and whatever label they’ve given me to tell me I can’t fight through life as readily as everyone else. I’ll get there. For sure. I must.