Positive Fucking Attitude

I kept a good attitude when my parents got divorced. I kept a good attitude when my dad couldn’t care for us because of work, and my mom couldn’t because of (alleged) alcoholism/hospitalization––and my sister and I had to live with her teacher. I kept a good attitude when we were so poor my mom couldn’t afford gas or tampons. I kept a good attitude after she killed herself.

I kept a good attitude when Diamond Resorts bought out Sunterra and they shut down the branch where I had worked my way up to management. I kept a good attitude after the recession also happened to start that year. I kept a good attitude when Morris Communications decided that the Juneau Empire needed a “corporate restructuring” and so eliminated my position, combined it with another, and paid them less. I kept a good attitude when the real estate office I was managing shut down, and I got laid off for the third fucking time in five years.

I kept a good attitude when I started having severe, and bizarre, health issues back at 18 years old: intense dizziness, mental confusion, cysts as large as 12 inches, abdominal cramping so severe I couldn’t keep screams inside, and a mental break that lasted five days. I kept a good attitude when the diagnoses I received did dick for my symptoms. I kept a good attitude when condescending doctors suggested I was imagining it.

I kept a good attitude when I started getting what I thought was the flu several times a year. I kept a good attitude after losing 2 more jobs because someone thought I was faking. I kept a good attitude when the symptoms got worse. I kept a good attitude when they multiplied, eventually by tens. I kept a good attitude as they took over my life, until I very literally couldn’t function.

I kept a good attitude when I almost died from fucking malnutrition in 2016 (with a healthy diet!!). I kept a good attitude as I worked in the only functional hours I had. I kept a good attitude when working as much as possible still isn’t enough. I keep a good attitude as I wonder if I’ll get an eviction notice any fucking second. I keep a good attitude as I regularly go weeks without seeing a familiar face.

I keep a good attitude when I go weeks without even seeing another human. I keep a good attitude even though I can’t fucking leave my house without help. I keep a good attitude even when every fucking thing hurts nearly all the fucking time and they can’t seem to do a fucking thing about it.

But I can’t keep doing it. I can’t. Something has to giiiiive. What the fucking fuck?! Seriously.

I very much believe that everything happens for a reason, and beyond that, that at the soul-level I know the reason and actually am the cause. But what the fucking fuck. I don’t understand why this reality is still here. I do ALL THE THINGS. I write here upset a lot, but that’s because I gave up all my beloved unhealthy coping mechanisms, so perception of my general state may seem skewed if one only knows me here––but I am thanked for my positive attitude on a regular basis. Even now. I’m totally a “favorite” patient.

I meditate. I maintain near-constant mindfulness. I feel my feelings when they come up, and then I let them go. I stay proactive. I’m organized like whoa. On good days I’m productive like whoa. I read spirit-centering works. I write. I paint. I eat stupid healthy. I learn from my fuck-ups, but don’t judge myself as less for them. I stopped being close to those who do. I pray. I gratitude.

I take epsom salt bubble baths. I take my medicines, everyday, on time. I regularly talk to loved ones, at least on the phone. I envision being in a healing shower of light. I don’t get much nature, but that’s really all I can think to do that I haven’t already been doing for fucking months, and I have no way to get to it. (Though the trees outside my window are some of my favorite beings around.)

I just feel like I should be healed and How I Lost All My Fucks should be a national phenomenon by now, I really do. I feel like by now I should be swiftly wandering about downtown and excitedly see someone with my book in their hand doing something silly and kind. I feel like by now I should be able to go drive by myself to go say hello to the ocean, and I should be able to walk to the beach, and then do a cartwheel off a log.

What the fucking fuck. I’m tired of keeping a positive attitude despite sticky situations. I’m ready to keep a positive attitude despite the pressure of success. Come HERE, reality. Heeeere. Ugh. Fucking unpredictable divine timing, you SOB you. I look forward to seeing how, in hindsight, this is perfect.

Send juju.

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