October blues

There's a simile about how life's struggles are like a mountain that you have to keep climbing, and that you have to keep trying or else you'll miss the view from the top. Something like that. I wish I thought that was anything but a load of horse crap right now.

What I do know: I'm going through the hormonal whipsaw of perimenopause. The 16th marks 23 years since my older brother committed suicide due to hazing in the Navy. The 14th would have been my third wedding anniversary. My source of livelihood is currently most influenced by old white men who don't give a crap. I am way behind on my mortgage. I cannot find a second job to make ends meet. I am loved by many, but I am not desired by anyone with the fortitude to share my life.

I am trying so hard, but I am losing sight of the point. What even is the fucking point? I cannot even begin to ask for the amount of help that I need because everyone is suffering to some extent.

The top of the mountain is not visible. It hasn't been for some time.

Orville Peck's latest album, Mule, hit me like a ton of bricks because while I haven't gone through his exact circumstances, the feeling is too familiar. You see you have a problem, you go through the motions of trying to fix it, but the road is hard and always has been and there is no sign of anything getting better anytime soon. It is so hard not to give up on everything right now.

I keep saying that I understand what my brother was feeling when he shot himself, but goddamn, do I feel it now more than ever. "I hate it here, I don't care, and I wanna die," the chorus of Rehab Blues says, and that is my heartbeat. I live it.

Wish I had something more upbeat to say, but there it is. Back to keeping my head down and trying to find the purpose in all of this shit.