Cyclone

Tonight my grief, uncertainty, anxiety, and depression all hit me at once. I was catapulted into a vortex of misery. Circling around my head like a cyclone above the sea was all of the grief I have faced in recent years: Grandma Winniczuk, Grandma Diane, Poptart, and Matt, who lived a great life but it was so short. He had so much more to live for and it was ripped away from him. He has almost been gone a month yet other than the initial shock I've been carrying on with life as usual. I feel guilty for not constantly feeling grief for him and for everyone I've lost. Now that it's hit again, I'm surprised by my agony. I never want to know how it feels when I lose a friend even closer...I can't even phantom. The cyclone also contained my uncertainty on life, jobs, the world, and society as a whole. I don't understand the point in most jobs...to just make money in order to live? Should we really have to pay for life? Who decided that? Oh right, ancient civilizations with egotistical rulers with more fortune then the rest of the town. We've all accepted becoming slaves. We're taught to be slaves from the day we are born. And we don't question it, "it's just how it is." Well, ITS NOT just how it is. It's how it has become, but that doesn't mean we can't question it. And now society doesn't even have the decency to call it slavery...now they call it work and make it look like a good thing. "You work for me, I'll give you some money, in the meantime all your hard work adds to my fortune and soon I'll be sipping champagne on my private yacht laughing at all you slaves that brought me the fortune, slaves that are happy with the small percentage I give them, ha!" Companies where you work your way "up the ladder"...haven't we learned that from grade school? All it really means is you're selling your soul to the company and before you know it you can't even remember why you started going up that ladder in the first place.
And the anxiety. It presses on my chest like I'm pierced by a 100 year old tree that I've grown to accept but now the world is chopping it down and making the pain worse with their ax. If I find myself more than a foot away from my tweezers I endure a panic attack so unavoidably absurd that I start blaming and entertaining the most ludicrous scenarios. God forbid I leave them at home while I run to the store for milk. It's unthinkable to leave them behind for a whole day. Without them I am hopelessly anxious.
Then there's the depression. Nothing I do, nothing anyone does, nothing I think, nothing I can imagine, makes me happy. Nothing is perfect in my eyes, and when it's not perfect, it's unacceptable. Thailand, Indonesia, Australia, Italy, Greece...there's always something that goes wrong to make me unhappy. I cannot accept anything less than perfect. A delicious dinner was great but not garlicky enough, the bread wasn't soft enough, the beach wasn't sunny enough, he's not tall enough, the water wasn't clear enough, there weren't any nudibranchs, I didn't get the perfect photo. Perfectionism stems from depression. Depression stems from perfectionism. Always unhappy in the end.

Tonight's weather report: Category 5.