Month: December 2015

I’ve been slowly working on restoring my archives. At one of the nadirs of the brutal fog my site got hacked and gutted and I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to figure out backups or restoration.

I underestimated the challenge ahead of me. Never mind the tedious cutting and pasting from the Wayback Machine, the downloading and uploading of photos, the fixing of links.

That was cake compared to the posts themselves: I’m halfway-through my romance with the Fireplug. I restored the posts about our wedding, the photos, our vows.

I wrote our vows and the one that I always remember, the one I keep coming back to, is I will never give up on you.

I thought long and hard about those vows, and I thought long and hard about the one in particular. It’s not something I have a lot of practice with, in either direction. I had to ask myself if I really meant it, if I would never give up on him.

I did mean it, though in the coming years depression and PTSD proved too tenacious, and my marriage fell apart. But still I meant it.  I probably still do.

The loss of it has staggered me. I miss my home so much that I turn my thoughts in any other direction. I am lucky, though, that I have one thing left I will never give up on.

 

It’s hard to give up on life and the possibility of human connection when people keep trying to help you. I’m humbled by you guys, especially – I have to say it – those of you who contributed money to me through PayPal. I tried to be all self-sufficient and turn down the offers, but in the end I really I needed help.

Portland hasn’t exactly opened its watery, mossy arms to me. I can’t find enough work here to pay the rent. I can’t even get a job interview. I don’t know if there are too many people moving here or what, but it seems like jobs and wages aren’t keeping up with the rents.

All this time on my hands, flat-broke and a stranger to this city. A new shrink re-diagnosed me with recurrent major depression – my old pal the brutal fog hasn’t really lifted in three years. She said that suicidal ideations are an indication that it’s been going on for a long time, and is nearing its logical conclusion.

So I’ve got a toolbox full of psych meds.

I needed something to pin my meager hopes on, something besides the prospect of another shitty, low-paying job that would merely get me by.

So I’ve spent the past couple of months pulling myself up through the fog by applying to Ph.D. programs in writing for next fall. I had a lot of time to think about the times when I felt most awake, most alive, and they’ve always been in academia. I like the life of the mind, and I think I could make a good professor.

In the meantime, though, I’m almost out of money. I’ve decided to leave Portland and accept my sister’s offer to live with her family in Boston, at least until I know if I’ve been accepted by any school.

Melanie is officially a step-sister, my mother’s partner’s daughter, but we’ve always been close and have grown closer over the past couple of years. I got to spend time with my niece during a recent visit. Agnes flew with me. It’s sweet having a tiny dog sometimes.

I think I’ll be a little happier with some family around me. I leave in a couple of weeks, and I think I have enough money to get me across the country in time for the New Year. Me and Agnes – road trip!