I am floundering. I have stuff that needs to be done. I know how to do it. I am more than capable of producing the work I need to produce. But I can’t seem to get into it no matter how hard I try. I opened this word document to make something happen. Anything. At least I am writing. Am I burnt out? Depressed? Decompressed? I haven’t a clue. This entire semester – this one and last… actually, my entire time at LSU has been a rollercoaster ride. No, it has been the entire carnival that came with the rollercoaster. And it has absolutely nothing to do with school. Despite the external bullshit I have had to deal with - bullshit I voluntarily walked into - I have been able to progress and succeed. That, in and of itself, is a minor miracle.
I started here a little more than two years ago in a relationship that turned into a long-distance romance; it became a long-distance engagement; and, last year, turned into a long distance marriage. Now it is an almost finished long-distance divorce. The long-distance part was mitigated as much as possible – more than possible, truth be told – but it didn’t solve the underlying trust issues. And I should have known, right from the start. The cheating began almost immediately, the lying, stealing, gambling, etc. that went with it continued non-stop and no matter what I did or did not do, it wasn’t enough. It could never have been enough. Now that all that shit has evaporated, I have slowly rolled to a near standstill. It is making me question everything. Is this all that is left? Is this all there ever was? What the fuck am I doing here?
I know the answers. No, no and I am chasing what I once thought was unattainable. I don’t miss Sacramento as much as I miss the fellowship of some very close friends I have there. However, I like Baton Rouge and have some great friends here now, too. I miss my home in Sacramento, but I have an awesome and equally nice home in Baton Rouge. I am a third-year PhD student and an instructor at a highly regarded R1 university. Everything looks great on paper. I am out of and past the most toxic, sick relationship I have ever been in. I am able to look at my own stupidity and own it. I don’t hate myself for entering into what turned out to be a fool’s errand – my heart was in the right place and my intentions were pure – but all the same I feel like something huge is missing. And no, it isn’t “her.” Could it be that I had grown so accustomed to the madness that I miss it? God, I hope not.
I spent a couple of hours earlier doing some editing and rereading of past posts in my blog. I’ve been meaning to fix some of the hyperlinks so that they are visible (I changed the background from black to white a while ago and the yellow hyperlinks were impossible to see). Up until early 2011, my posts had an underlying energy to them, a contentedness that I could feel coming from between the lines. I was happy. I didn’t have nor did I need a “her,” and I certainly was not seeking what I found. Yet, slowly, the maintenance that relationship required eventually became all-consuming. But I managed to get through my schoolwork despite it. Now that energy and mental space has been freed. I knew I would get here eventually and figured that my productivity would greatly increase as a result. It seems as though exactly the opposite is happening. I just don’t get it.