The Certainty of Uncertainty
I haven’t written in a while. I’m sorry. Life just kept going, the world kept spinning, and I got caught up in a bunch of bullshit like always. Writing just kept getting lower and lower on the list of things to do. Now that the world has come to a screeching halt and I’m in quarantine for the foreseeable future, there isn’t much of an excuse to not write.
So here I am in my raw state: anxious, scared, regretful. For the first time, things are uncertain. Yes, there are plenty of things that are uncertain but the things that I have always felt were certain are not so certain anymore. I can live with the uncertainty of when and how I’ll die, it’s something I’ve lived with for the past 31 years but the certainty of a basic daily structure is no longer the one thing that is certain. None of this is. Every thing has been flipped on its head, transforming into random chaos that has no rhyme or reason. It just is.
In the past month I have become a fan of Chapo Trap House (I’m sorry!) and in the latest episode, Matt Christman stated that we are on a precipice of an interesting time. He stated that right now everything is a wild card, we have absolutely no idea what is going to happen and that’s what makes it exciting however bad things just keep piling up. The wild card isn’t waiting for a good thing to happen, but rather what out-of-left-field atrocity will wind up out our doorstep to create more havoc. This isn’t how I imagined this year going at all. The election coverage has sent me into a spiral of anxiety and frustration, but I knew I could unplug, leave the house and shut off electronics. This pandemic has now forced me to be glued to a phone to stay informed of how everything is unraveling. It’s also been a social lifeline, although the lifeline feels thin and weak, which is forcing me to retreat further into myself. The last time I did that, I fell into a deep depression, a depression so dark I was positive I wouldn’t make it out the other end. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I am frightened. If a pandemic doesn’t kill me, my overwhelming thoughts and solitude will.
I think about the things I could have done, places I could have traveled to, things I could have said to those I love. It feels like now would be the time to live with no regrets, but I’m not that kind of girl. To be that kind of girl, I would have to be vulnerable and unafraid to confront my feelings. I’ll never be that girl that will give you an entire history of myself and every inner thought, no matter how dark or stupid it is. I won’t tell you I’m sad or angry or depressed and demand someone pay attention. I don’t do that because to me that is the ultimate cringe, the act of desperation I never want anyone to see me in. I hate that shit. I’ll never be that girl. Instead I will give information that seems like its TMI but it’s shallow because I want to create the illusion I am an open book. The matter of the fact is, I’m not. The general public gets a glimpse of the lighter side of my persona. The darker side stays hidden, where it belongs.
I don’t know what will happen after this. This could all blow over in a few weeks. We slowly return back to normal and in three months time we forget that this happened.
Or everything changes. We demand better wages, free healthcare, paid sick days, demands that make our government treat us like humans. We upend the system completely, start from scratch, hope for the best because that’s all we have left and the only thing right now that is certain: hope for a better world.