My December to Remember 2: Day Fourteen
News: DJ Stephen “tWitch” Boss, Ellen DeGeneres’ DJ, dead by suicide at age 40.
Fauci alleges “we are still in the middle of a pandemic.”
GOP members demand DHS Secretary Mayorkas resign for “abandoning his duty” at southern border, Title 42 to expire in one week.
“Shut the fuck aaaaaaaaaaahp!” I screamed at the top of my lungs outside after some female van driver honked at a Lyft driver. The car had just stopped and not two seconds later, this woman’s itchy honkin’ fist came slamming down, emitting a long, whining drone mere feet away from where I stood. And she had a clear path to go to the right and scootch around the Lyft. I decided to help out by screaming bloody murder, probably alarming the families all walking toward Rockefeller Center. She, of course, screamed back as I told her to relax, throwing up a limp-ass middle finger while the Lyft driver moved up, and everyone went about their day. The woman in the Lyft got out and shouted “Thank you!” at me under her mask. I curtseyed, fucking curtseyed, then began to blow kisses. “Happy holidays!” I exclaimed, “Merry Christmas to all!”
And that was it. It felt great. A very New York moment. It’s okay if you don’t understand them, they’re kinda dysfunctional. But I’ve been tense all day, and have to thank that crazy honking lady for giving me an excuse to get my anger out.
It’s been building lately. Something has. And I feel so trapped by it. Nothing seems to be going my way this month. I’m trying really hard to be in a good mood, but I’ve changed. Something inside me completely scattered to the wind, and I’m a completely different person now. It’s like I will never take someone’s bullshit ever again as long as I live, and it’s hardened me. I’m a pretty little diamond encased by an assholish exterior, and it can be a very tough nut to crack when it comes down to it.
All around me I see the crumbling of what I once loved about this country. And what they’re trying to assemble in its stead is just weird, cruel, and even downright inhuman. Someone on the brink all the time will either fall into the abyss, or find a way off the ledge, back onto solid ground. Unfortunately for us, even that solid ground could give way at any moment. That’s how lightning-fast things can change. And at this point, I think people have finally had enough.
The more it all gets found out, the angrier I think people are going to get. People lash out when they feel threatened, especially when it’s regarding something they’ve built up, defended, or believed in their entire lives. Unfortunately that’s not entirely my problem, but I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on. Just give me a chance to do so too if the time ever comes. I’ve felt broken enough for ten lifetimes, I’m not sure how much more misery I need to keep shoveling into my psyche.
You can only push people so far. That’s what I keep telling myself. But I find more and more just how much I can withstand. It’s not like I’m letting myself sink. It’s like I’m being pelted with broken glass as I walk forward, trudging through the slime and the mud, and each new cut I feel will be the one to break me. But it never does. This both delights and frightens me, as I could so easily let one of them cut my corroded artery and let myself bleed out. But I don’t. I keep going. I never want to stop. I want to see just how much of the world’s weight I can put on my shoulders before I find salvation on the other side.
I just keep dreaming of the end. What it’ll look like once we’re past all this. When what’s living in the anarchist part of my mind finally flies free, and we’re standing there together amidst the rubble and ruins; happy we’re alive, happy we’ve made it together. I ask God every night for a sign of things to come, and I think He delivers day after day. As long as I keep staying clear, there’s nothing that can break my spirit, even if I have to fight a panic attack off here or there. You can’t break me, I was never broken to begin with. Neither was my heart.