Hope And Other Bullshit

People keep coming up to me and telling me how impressed they are by how strong I am. About how great it is that I moved and how impressive it is that Ive been able to keep everything together despite all of the recent bullshit. How lucky I am to be strong because that makes everything magically ok.

They're all assholes. Was that inappropriate? It's not any less appropriate than telling me I'm strong like it makes all the problems in the world go away. It doesn't. All it does is tell me about a character trait that's totally irrelevant to the conversation.

Of course I've kept it together. I don't have the luxury of curling up in a ball for a week because I have a broken heart. If I don't go to work, I don't have a job. If I don't have a job, my bills don't get paid. Being tough isn't a trait you develop one day because you think it sounds like fun. You do it because you don't really have a choice otherwise, so you might as well suck it up, Nancy.

Strong or not there's only so much hurt you can handle all at once before things start to fall apart. Even the strongest people in the world have a breaking point. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar. Everyone falls apart. Everyone has scars. Some just hide it better than others is all.

I caught a glimpse, a very tiny glimpse, of something that might actually start to turn this shit show around for me. 

I don't like it. 

If I chase it and it doesn't work, I'm going to wind up so much farther down and out than I was to start with that I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it. If I don't' chase it, I'm stuck in a perpetual state of feeling like this. Which honestly, isn't that good.

I've never been a big believer in hope. At best I always thought it was bullshit. Something people held on to for lack of any other option. Something to keep you sane in a world that doesn't make sense. Right up there with believing in God, I always considered hope to be something people did to make themselves feel better when they couldn't afford a new pair of shoes.

At it's worst, hope seems like a cruel joke. I can't count the number of times I've seen someone so far down that they seem like they'll never be able to get up again, and they always say the same thing. "I have hope". Inevitably what seems like a change in luck comes along and blows up in their face. Their perpetual hope winds up leaving them a bigger mess than they were to start with. 

Never been a big fan. Tried it a few times anyway. Didn't work out well for me. Actually, I don't ever think it's worked out well for me. That being said, I think I need a little of it right now. A little pointless, stupid hope. Something to maybe make the universe feel alright again. 

A breath of fresh air maybe. 

But all I can see are the ways it won't work. The million ways that I get my ass handed to me one more time because why the hell not? Kick her while she's down. 

Because I'm a fucking idiot, I'm grasping at that little shred of hope like maybe this time it'll be different than the plethora of other times I've thought that and had my spirit stomped on. I have to. I've run out of alternatives. 

I guess I hope if I keep chasing it like an idiot, I'll eventually come out ahead. Kind of like those people who are convinced they'll win the lottery someday.

They probably won't. But there's always that chance. 

There are a few things about life that you convince yourself of as an adult. For example, when you're laying naked in front of your doctor while he pokes various things into your orifices, you tell yourself that he is a professional and he sees this all the time so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You convince yourself that when you're at the gym, your trainer is more concerned with your form than the fact that you gained 37 pounds over Christmas. You tell yourself that your bartender knows that you are just tying one on and isn't whispering to his wife that you're an alcoholic when he sees you at church.

Despite our insecurities, we convince ourselves that this is the truth so we can carry on with our lives.

I tend to run at 100 miles an hour, all the time. I work, I have a side job, I write, and I'm working on some super secret side projects. I've been keeping up this pace since college, and I never thought that it would catch up to me. I keep my body fueled with a very specific combination of nachos, Diet Coke and Twizzlers, and it's worked for me for almost 10 years.

I was at work on Thursday, and all the sudden I got dizzy. I blew it off, decided it was my blood sugar, and immediately remedied the situation with an emergency Twizzler. It didn't help.

I figured I was tired, and went back to work.

It was only when I almost passed out walking across the office that I realized something was Wrong with a capital "W". Thank the lord for my friend Mary*, who was kind enough to walk me to the clinic on campus, if only so she didn't find me passed out face down in the parking lot in a pile of snow.

Some poking, prodding and a few tests involving needles later, I got my diagnosis.

Exhaustion and dehydration.

To which my response was a simple "Exhaustion and dehydration? Who the fuck do I look like? Lindsay Lohan?"

Turns out, nachos, Twizzlers and a gallon of Diet Coke do not a healthy diet make. It's been a few days and I'm almost feeling back to my normal spunky self. I'd be lying if I said it didn't spook me a little bit. So I decided it was time to get back on the "taking care of myself like an adult" wagon.

Alie over at Hyperbole and a Half wrote a great blog post about how she decides to be an adult, makes it approximately one day, and then burns herself out. She then rebels, starting the vicious cycle all over again. I am equally guilty of this, but this time is different. I don't ever want to feel like I felt on Thursday again.

The first place I went was the grocery store. Time to stock up on food that doesn't have nacho cheese listed as the main ingredient and Gatoraide.

In her post, Alie writes "For a little while, I actually feel grown-up and responsible. I strut around with my head held high, looking the other responsible people in the eye with that knowing glance that says "I understand. I'm responsible now too. Just look at my groceries."

I'm concerned with making sure I make lasting changes, so I started where I always start: Lots of fruit, vegetables and chicken. I threw my purchases onto the belt and waited while the cashier scanned my order.

I had always convinced myself that the people who work at the store don't actually look at what you're buying. Much like doctors, dentists, trainers, and the person who waxes your bikini, they've seen it all before and they don't actually give a flying shit either way.

The cashier hit total, and smiled at me.

"Yours is the healthiest order I've seen all day".

At that second, my world changed. We were lied to. They do notice what we buy. Flash back to the time I bought stain remover, hand lotion, condoms, sugar free chocolate syrup and batteries in one transaction. Facepalm.

My life might never be the same. Now that I know the truth, I will never be able to buy all of my items at the same place. God forbid I need condoms or tampons, I might have to leave the state. Never will I be able to go to the gynecologist without wondering who I'm being compared to. I may never get anything on my body waxed again ever.

But, one good thing came from this.

If I was the healthiest order she had seen all day by process of elimination, that means every other order was less healthy than mine. Which means only one thing.

I won.

I won at being an adult today, and the rest of you can suck it. I'm going to sit here and bask in my well deserved glory.

The only thing that could make this better? Some nachos washed down with some Diet Coke.



*Who I owe so much thanks to. You're such a great friend, and I appreciate you so much!