The Fridge

Usually, when walking up to the refridgerator, I am overcome with happiness of what lies beyond those double-doors. Sweet tea, jalapeño cheddar sausage, or maybe leftover chicken alfredo..? However, today, April 25th, 2017, when approaching the fridge, I became overcome with gloom.

Here we go again, I say to myself, For the fifth time!

Greetings! Or as they say in Afrikaans, Welkom! Thank you for stopping by once again and reading this blog/public journal of mine, Nameless. I have several future entries in the works, a lot of them personal, but not all. Coming soon is “Hsu; the only pair of shoes I own,” a short biography/narrative on one of my musical inspirations, Billie Holiday, and, even one on sex, courtship, and love. So, stay tuned!

I’m not sure how you deal with bad news. Some people work out. Maybe, smoke a joint. I’m partial to the sit-in-the-corner-and-cry method.

In the past, my anxiety has led me to do nothing at all! “Not dealing with it” is, obviously, the worst way to get out of a bad situation, but it wasn’t obvious for me, at least for a while. At first, I was convinced I was just a lazy, worthless child. My whole world would literally be falling apart and I couldn’t lift a finger to stop it. Surely, I was smart and capable enough to get through it, but I just…couldn’t. Why? It wore down my self esteem. As time wore on and the situation got worse, not only would I stress about the situation itself, but I would stress more about my voluntary inaction. Depression, brooding, and extreme self-loathing followed.

The media makes depression look so glamourous, when in reality, it isn’t pretty at all. Depression is feeling worthless. Depression is not showering for days because you can’t even find the motivation to get out of bed. It’s feeling so completely disgusted with yourself, you can’t even look in a mirror. It’s snorting a huge rail of coke or meth just so you stop crying. It’s bringing whiskey in a water bottle to work so you can make it through your shift. It’s having a series of one-night stands so you can feel wanted by someone, anyone, even a random.

You feel me?

I fight against these self-destructive habits every single day. These days, I pick up my pen and write my feelings or make a list, I do something productive, I put on music and become inspired. Being homeless in the past, I am pretty used to dealing with messed up situations. I have moved 5 times in the last 5 months, even more in the last two years. It doesn’t bother me much anymore, other than the minor inconvenience.

Until, this morning.

Vag · a · bond

  • noun.  A person who wanders from place to place without a home or a job
  • adjective.  Having no settled home
  • verb.  Wander about as or like a vagabond

now playing : ¡Mayday! “Good Pressure

If you were to tell my 20 year-old self that I would enjoy living in San Antonio, much less Downtown San Antonio, I would have rolled my eyes and laughed in your dumb face. But, I love it, I do!

I love this little house!

You can practically taste the history here. Anywhere you walk on the property, there’s a resounding positive aura. It isn’t the nicest place, by any means, but living here sparked something in me, my creativity, my balance. Downtown, there is always something to see, something to do. I could check out a show, or go graffiti hunting, or go biking on the Riverwalk. All this within walking distance or a bus ride.

Please, don’t misunderstand. I love my lifestyle! If you are without children or a husband or a wife, I highly suggest living in as many different places as possible. Not only have I meet people from all walks of life, but I have learned to stay on my toes and make plans at a moment’s notice. I can pinch a penny, save a dollar. I can talk to the homeless with ease; they have so much knowledge from directions to the highway or where the find the best drugz. I’ve learned what is and isn’t legal in my state. I have learned how to consolidate my belongings into one bag. Rather than building attachments to material possessions, new clothes, a new car, or the newest episode of The Walking Dead, you build attachments to people, real conversation, and irreplaceable moments. I have learned  life lessons, (not every place will have toilet paper so always have your own) life skills, (doing your own oil change for your car or shoplifting from Wal-Mart, the dos and donts), and, most importantly, self-defense and protection (squeamish around guns? Carry a blade)!

But, I digress.

As I stand at The Fridge, my heart sinks. There’s this feeling I cannot seem to shake. This is new! I feel a longing, a bleakness, deep inside that I’ve never felt before.

When will it end? When I be able to call a place “mine?” When will I be able to hang clothes in my own closet? Or display my posters? Or sit in my own yard under a big, shady tree? Will I ever have my own bed again? Will I ever be able to invite over a friend and then, when they get annoying, kick them out, because it’s my place and I can do that?

I’m not naive. I have made terrible decisions in my youth which have led me down this path. I have two broken leases under my name, I have bad, not terrible but still bad, credit, and have been given so many handouts by my family, that I can’t bring myself to ask for another dime. I am 28 years old! I made my bed, now I have to sleep in it, as they say.

Everyone deserves a second chance, but what about a 10th or 11th chance? It sounds so ridiculous! But these thoughts and more crossed my mind as I stood before The Fridge this morning.

…and there was no sweet tea either.


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