Honestly, Not One Of My Best Days

So, you know, I had been getting down a lot recently. It’s hard to pin down exactly how I was feeling – was it depression? was it seasonal? was it because of changing medicine intakes? was it gradual, and my feeling confined physically and without stimulation mentally was accumulating in some dank hole inside me? – but I was definitely feeling down.

Which is strange. The worst of my “blue” period considered with Winter Break for both my brother and a few of friends from high school, so I was around more people than ever. I enjoyed every night I had, either playing video games with my brother to the wee hours of the morning, or grabbing a board game for my friends from high school and using it as an excuse both to compete and dominate, and to have often-meaningful conversations. It was great – and yet, really going into the week past new years, I felt like crap inside.

Really the apex of crap-feeling was Christmas, go figure, generally my favorite holiday. My mom and I didn’t go to church in the morning, as we have for every single Christmas past, and I’ve been failing to get to Church anyways since I left for Egypt. My religion used to be very important to me, and God and the Church was there for me when at my loneliest and when I was without… “outlets,” say. But I’ve gotten older, and learned a lot more, and the more I’ve seen, the harder it is to receive the kingdom of God as a child would. Now, a lot of people have similarly vague internal religious issues, so there’s no need for a real discussion there. But, it would be nice to go to Church more often (as compared to once, so far), even just to keep the habit alive and feel like my life has gotten back on track.

And back to Christmas Day specifically: this was the first year my grandparents didn’t eat the big Christmas dinner with my family. They’re both 90, my grandma’s blind, and my grandpa suffers from some severe dementia – so they’re not doing great, believe me. In years past, we’d either go over there, or one of my parents would pick them up and bring them to our house. Alas, this year, I couldn’t make it over their house, and my grandpa was finally too far gone to leave his home anymore. It makes him nervous, skiddish – even aggressive. And while they weren’t alone on Christmas – my uncle and his family spent time at my grandparents’ house – it still made me sad that I couldn’t see them. I got into college because of an essay I wrote about my grandparents, how they embody the most profound manifestation of love on this mortal coil, and how their most genuine of loves is exactly what is missing from too many of our leaders’ hearts. I owe them a lot for that, and I think about that every time I come back home. So Christmas just bummed me out.

But, overshadowing my entire time home have been two daunting tasks: I need to write thank you cards to the scores of people who have sent me touching letters wishing me well, offering strength and prayer; and I finish up my semester of Arabic, without the advantages of being in Egypt, being around Arabic speakers, having an available Arabic teacher, and possessing a positive attitude about Arabic. With regards to the former, I write all this at the risk of sounding like a complainer. I could have made arrangements that would have facilitated my distance learning – my Egyptian colloquial teacher generously offered to Skype with me weekly. I could have…

aaand then I wrote another 900 words giving a pretty decent overview of what I am feeling (complete, total, and crushing paralysis), why (blaming myself there), limited impotence (damn you, medicines) and recent news (Anna here! Learning to use forearm crutches!). I genuinely spilled my heart out, in a way that I don’t always but always need to. I cried at least three times while writing this, or at least, tears welled and Anna asked me if I was okay. I wasn’t, but I was getting better because I was writing it down. But, as you’ve probably guessed since the beginning of this paragraph, WordPress logged me out without telling me and saved nothing but the first 600 words, presenting me only with error when I tried to “publish” my post. God damn it.

So, to sum up: if you want to help me, and hey, I do need some help, try to contact me. I’m difficult to get a hold of because I’m generally pretty bummed out and because my personal bandwidth, which used to be infinite, is totally shot. But I really to want to communicate with more people, especially the people who are important to me. I’m failing, badly. I could just really use a hand sometimes – and, as I would to my parents when I’m trying to open a door on my own, I am also asking for a bit of patience. But, real moral of the story: UGH WEB 2.0, YOU DISAPPOINT ME. I WISH YOU WERE A PERSON SO I COULD COUGH ON YOU.

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