In the past, whenever I felt lonely or became aware of a void needing to be filled, I drank. Boyfriend out of town? Six pack of Coors Light tall boys. Friday night and I didn't get on at open mic? Two bottles of wine. But now that my sense of loneliness has increased, I don't have anything to fill that void. What used to be solved with alcohol is now a stagnant hiatus, a creeping sense of blame and would have / should have / could haves.
I came to realize this week that I've been subconsciously blaming myself for what happened to my better half last summer. If I could have shut the fuck up for two minutes and just went home, everything would have been avoided. Maybe we would have a place of our own, or even be engaged. I was selfish and only thinking about myself and how I only wanted to drink more. And in the last 10 months, that's been incredibly hard for me to admit, and I'm sorry.
Coping with depression sucks. Just get some exercise! Even if I had peace of mind, I still wouldn't be exercising. I would be the same sleeping schlub, sleeping not because I need the rest, but because I want to escape everything. Sleep has become my new drug of choice, and not because of peer pressure or because I can get it for free. Like television or the deep ends of the internet, sleep is my escape, and because of severe depression, I can't get enough.
I have no real sense that I belong anywhere. The friends I thought I had have become egotistical maniacs, thrashers of confidence and esteem. My mom and step-dad are in Hawaii, basking in the rays of a tropical timezone and digging their toes into volcanic sand. I hate that I would have been there, too. If it weren't for my family spending an astronomical amount on their offsprings' fuck ups, we would be taking pictures of sunsets for Instagram and worrying about the SPF in various sunblocks. Instead, I'm sitting here in front of my fan in an old t-shirt and thinking about how I am the person that is solely to blame for my demise. Where do I belong? It certainly isn't here.
The circles I used to feel comfortable in have dissipated. I've desperately needed a hug for days, yet I'm afraid to get one because I know I'll immediately start crying at the thought of someone actually making physical contact with me, and many people see crying as a sign of weakness or vulnerability. Instead I've been spooning with a comforter while kitty sleeps in the bend of my legs. I have no family I can rely on in Minneapolis. Most of my days are spent alone because I'm either asleep or I have no energy. How did it come to this?
When I do have the energy, I've been working on pseudo-side project involving my ancestry on my dad's side of the family. From what I discovered, my family owned an exclusive resort on the Black Sea which catered to wealthy Jews from Moscow and St. Petersburg. When the Russians decided a monarchy really wasn't their cup of tea, tensions arose and my family left Odessa in 1907. In search of a life that was better but not much better, they settled in Aberdeen, South Dakota. After accessing the 1920 and 1940 US censes, I discovered they spoke German while they identified as Russian.
After some Googling and a few quick emails to my uncle, I discovered that many Germans, especially from the area Alsace-Lorraine, immigrated to Russia in the 19th century. "Low German," the language they spoke in addition to broken English, originated in Lower Saxony. My current investigation is centered around the immigration from Germany to Russia: why the move when international tensions were high? I guess I have to keep digging.
The research I've done on my family has provided me with a sense of belonging during a time where I feel like I don't belong anywhere. I don't feel like I belong in Minneapolis, in comedy. It's like finding a dead end when it isn't marked. You thought you were in the right place, and in a swift but predictable turn of events, you're struggling to go any further and need to turn around. But I'm having trouble finding out where exactly to turn to. Clearly alcohol is out of the question and anything else people imbibe, smoke, hit, bang, or dab.
I've already hit rock bottom. So what is this? It feels like a shitty rest stop.