Thoughts of the random variety

I often feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I assume most people feel the same because it would be reeeeaaaaal awkward if it were just me. Sometimes it’s like being adrift in my work, hobbies, relationships, and even my own head. I get the impression I should be expressing this in some way, but on the whole, I find myself spending a lot of time thinking without writing anything down. It’s silly, I know, not to blog, tweet, Facebook, or Instagram every single thing that runs through my head. It’s like experiencing a disconnect from how the rest of society is communing.

Personal Pride

I don’t know how I want to start this or even exactly what I want to say. Pride is a thing that doesn’t come easily for me. I’m only “out” as pansexual (or bisexual–I’m not gonna quibble over the details) in so much as I don’t necessarily shy away from it. I don’t generally go around announcing it, though I do keep some nerdy rainbow pins on my bag. It’s not something I discuss with family for the most part. Frankly, I don’t want to even deal with what my dad might think of me. Does it even matter? At the end of the day, my orientation is only a part of who I am.

Loss and depression

Earlier this month, I lost my nearly 19-year-old cat. It’s a loss that has left me devastated and totally lacking in creative drive. I show up for my weekly podcast recording and keep to my streaming schedule, but the simple act of writing this post has taken days of self-encouragement. Work has been a series of refreshing Facebook or staring blankly at Reddit instead of doing my most routine tasks. In short, I’ve been a useless lump.

15 months prior to Cleo’s death, I went through a similar bout of depression after losing her sister. I spent 15 long months dreading the day when they’d both be gone. Now that it’s come, I spend a lot of time being kind of numb. And it’s one of those things where I keep forgetting she’s no longer with me, so I’ll look for her briefly before I remember I’m never seeing her again. And it tears my heart open a little every single time. Every day. Even knowing a week in advance that the day was coming didn’t help much. I’m glad she’s no longer suffering, but that’s little consolation when I’m missing a companion who has been around my entire adult life.

I’ve told myself that this doesn’t need to be a long post and I’m sticking to that. The important part is writing, even though I still don’t feel like it. I wish I had some wonderful insights about grief and healing that I could pass along to readers, but I don’t. It’s sad, it hurts, and it intensifies the feelings of loneliness I was already experiencing. Part of me wants the sadness to stop, but part of me clings to it like it’s the last vestige I have of her. Meanwhile, all I feel I can do outwardly is to carry on with life and routines. It sucks, but I don’t have any other answers.