“I’m Ok.”

“I’m Ok.”

I’m not.

Sometimes all it takes is a tiny push, and I remember how “not ok” I really am. Today a co-worker asked a question that I didn’t know the answer to, and within 10 minutes I was outside with another co-worker, crying my eyes out.

My life could be much worse. But I’m sad, and anxious, and pretty lonely most of the time. I deal with things much better than I used to, but on days like today I feel like little more than a mess.

I’m afraid of everything to do with money, especially the US credit cards that haven’t been paid in months and the US taxes that I will have to file next year. And the $48,000 in student loans that I’ve accumulated to have two B.A.’s that I don’t use in any capacity.

It’s a struggle to build the motivation to do the laundry or dishes. The latter piles up for days, until my husband finally does them. It isn’t his job to take care of our home; it’s mine. I don’t clean very often anymore, and I think there are two shirts hanging in my closet right now. I came to work in jeans and an old button down today, looking every bit the university student that I was for so long.

I love cooking, but barely do it anymore. We order take-away pretty often these days, ruining our diet, budget, and health in the process, all because I don’t feel like cutting up some chicken and boiling a pot of water.

I’m angry and hurtful to my husband. He’s nothing but considerate and kind to me, and I crap on him pretty regularly these days.

I cannot quit gossiping at work. Enough said.

Church is ridiculously annoying. For the last month, I have fallen to my knees in tears, pretty much as soon as the opening worship music begins. I don’t miss a moment of the life I left in the US until church; then, I’m flooded with memories of the community I once had, and the loneliness of being in a room of people who don’t know me and don’t seem to want to. Add to this that the ratio of worship:visions:tongues-speaking is a bit off from what I consider believable, and the fact that I have a very low tolerance for End Days chatter, and it’s not a big surprise. Another church I’ve come in contact with apparently has a prophet who is hit on the noggin with diamonds (real diamonds) each time he prays, and has battle angels appear during church meetings. A third told me that I’d be better finding somewhere “more American.” I need a faith community to strive, and it’s proving very difficult.

I miss my family. Sometimes, I think they miss me, too. Most of the time, I’m verbally reminded that they’ve let me live my life as I like, and have therefore given up the right to be unhappy about much of anything. At the moment, my mom is planning on selling the house she’s been in for nine years, and leaving the town I’ve called “home” since birth. Where am I meant to stay when I visit “home?” Do I sleep over at her boyfriend’s house? Am I to stay at my grandma’s home, and visit Mom elsewhere? I’m so selfish to worry about such things, when she’s only trying to move on with her life sans children in the house.

I’ll shut up now and just summarize: I’m not ok. I don’t want a prescription or supplement to make me feel otherwise. I just want my world to feel “right” again. I want to walk next door and have my best friend there, to pick up her son and sing songs with him, and be able to afford to stay home with my kids one day. I want this persistent headache to go away, and for my husband to quit hounding me about finishing the second season of Battlestar:Galactica.

Maybe I just want to quit being an adult? Hey?

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