So… bedbugs.

Do you know after you treat for bedbugs and replace your furniture and throw away everything that ever meant something to you, that you still itch for awhile? Like, some sort of reflexive memory. Do you know that when you’re climbing an emotional mountain so big you don’t even have the strength to wash your hair that bedbugs will feel like someone is standing at the top of that mountain, throwing boulders down at you? Did you guys know that? I am exhausted and after today’s setback, I don’t know where I’m going to get the energy to pull myself up… again. I’m hot and sleepy and antsy and angsty and I wish I can wrap this part of my life up already and get to whatever’s coming next.

I am unsettled. And angry about it. I don’t know where I’m going; I only know I don’t want to be where I’ve been, nor do I want to be where I am now. Nearly three years in to this “new phase” that I walked into, eyes open, I am exhausted, lonely, sad and broke. Goddamn, I didn’t see this coming. I’m honestly almost too exhausted to keep going. I thought I saw a bedbug the other night and had a full blown panic attack, complete with tears and pacing and hand wringing, and shaking. I was an actual wreck for about three hours. This apartment has the worst circulation of any place I’ve ever lived and I think I’m going to sweat myself into a puddle. I don’t want to see anybody, and I don’t want to be seen. I force myself to show up to things every once in a while so people think I’m okay and they leave me alone the rest of the time. And before you ask, yes I’m in therapy… again.

It’s a crazy feeling, this rage I have simmering. This anger that bubbles. Because I’m the only one who ever feels it. My therapist told me to write down why I don’t feel like it’s okay to express it. Why I don’t think it’s okay to be angry. I think my anger scares me more than anything. I think I’m afraid of the fallout. I’m afraid of what the anger says about me, afraid that Angry Me… is me. Afraid that if I get angry I’ll stay that way. Afraid most of all, that my anger will make me mean. And as someone who’s had people be mean to them, that’s not who I want to be. But I am pretty mad. I’m mad that since I’ve been here, most of the people I interact with are people who only do so because of what I can do/ have done/ will do for them. I’m mad at being seen as a resource, as someone to be used. And I’m mad that some of these people think I’m too stupid to realize that that’s how they see me. That I don’t know why you keep me on your radar. I KNOW, YOU SONS OF BITCHES. I SEE YOU, AND I KNOW!!! And this fear of being mean is the only thing that keeps me from exploding on you.

Some days I feel like I’m cracking up. Like the pieces of me are falling away. I don’t wish this on anyone. And it’s hard sometimes to get the kind of support you need. I honestly don’t want scriptures quoted at me, and I don’t want to hear that “everyone has ups and downs.” That doesn’t help, and I wish you idiots would stop doing that shit. When I told Eric how I was doing, he asked me to come and stay with him. Clear my head. Ease my mind. When I told Ebony, she came to see me. Brought me a care package. Real, tangible, support. You know what I say to people when they tell me that they’re struggling? I say, “I’m sorry. Can I do anything?” Or, “here’s what I can do. Does this help?” Real, tangible, support. I don’t throw out platitudes about what everyone else is going through. Do you see the distinction? And if those platitudes are all you’ve got, then stop asking me how I’m doing. Because all your response shows me is that you don’t really want to know. Smh. Okay, so maybe I’m angry about this too.

I just… working through these things has been tiring. And the hits just keep on coming. Because all of this has made me question whether the Universe is telling me it was wrong to come home. Whether or not I should even be here. Which means more moving, more transition. And to where? Where am I going? What do I want to be doing? I haven’t been creative in months, I’m stumbling through and I don’t know what it means. Should I leave? I’m feeling more and more like I should. But once again, where do I go? I don’t want to go back to Maryland, but every other place I have friends is shaky. The friendships may not be developed enough to lean on them, like I lean on my Aunt Lil and my dad here, or like I leaned on Chinwe and Eb and Dana in Maryland. I don’t want to be a burden. I know how heavy burdens are. How heavy the feel. I mean, I could just branch out to somewhere completely new, but can I go it alone? I mean, do I want to go it alone? Which brings me to the next thing…

Alone. And lonely. No closer to meeting someone. That’s not even my main concern because right now I’m in shambles and truth be told as long as it’s been, I’m used to it. But I just… this is not who I thought I would be. And it’s not lost on me that my newest short story collection is all about heartbreak because I know it so fucking well. And every pure, lighthearted love story I try to write gets bogged down in dramatic minutiae because I don’t know love as well as I’d like to. As well as other people. Sigh. I guess we’re adding some jealousy to my anger. I guess I don’t know what to do. I guess I’m still working through it. I wish I knew where I belonged. Because it wasn’t Maryland. And it’s not here.