Two more days

So, I’m getting on a plane on Friday. I don’t want to. I hate flying but I don’t have a car and I don’t have any other means that won’t take the entire weekend in transit.

We’re celebrating my father’s birthday… an entire month early. I don’t know why. I wasn’t given much choice. I could have refused, I guess but then that makes me the petty one. I had to fight for my flight time and I have to have a stupid layover on the way back.

I stopped sleeping the other night. I had to get myself back on track. I have to eat. I have to sleep and I have to stop thinking that every bit of change is the end of the world.

I probably won’t get to indulge in my hobbies this year. I’m not going to have a car this year. I’m not going to get roped into the family drama. I moved across an entire state for a reason. That place is not my home. It was never my home and I don’t think they ever understood that.

I love my family but… I never feel myself around them. It hurts me and I think my sisters can feel it. My brother is never sure what I’m about and neither does his wife. My brother-in-law wants to bring me home but knows it would hurt me more than help me. My father… wants me married and with children and I haven’t the strength to break his heart so I just don’t talk about it.

I have a ride to the airport. I have means to get home after the trip. That part is set. It’s the trip. I don’t know what we’re doing and what we’re expected to do and I have pack tomorrow night. Most of the laundry is done.

I want to enjoy the time with my nieces and nephews but I can’t really explain to them why I’m not around except that I live far away. My job is far away.

Part of what brought me here was an opportunity to work where the color of my skin and the tongues I do not speak do not affect my prospects. Sure, you can say that plenty of people in that area don’t speak Spanish and are not required to at their jobs. You can say that plenty of people who share my pigment color have good jobs. The cross-section is different. No one will say it outright but when you look like a Mexican and you don’t talk like a Mexican and live in a border city, life is rough. Strangers will try to shame you. You won’t be “the right fit for this position” even if you are over-qualified.

My attempts to learn the language have been met with frustration and despair. I learned Russian basics faster than I have learned Spanish ones.

There’s also my nerdiness. I have contacts at work where I can plug in and express some of that. At home, I can’t. I can have my interests but I can’t share them. The circles are small and cliquey and if they didn’t know you from kindergarten, they don’t need you. I only have two friends from middle school that I’m in intermittent contact with. I spent 10 years in that city and the fond memories are so few… I can’t even see them.

What I don’t want is a fight about my life. I don’t want to stand accused of being me. My plan is to walk out.

Simply walk out if it comes to it.

I’ve never been good in a fight at defending myself. I will fight for others. I will fight for my life. I will not fight for just me.

Anymore, I just don’t have the strength for it.

I’ve grown accustomed to people scoffing at my clothes, my music and my interests and blowing past it. I don’t do the same. I don’t like everything but I never go out of my way to tell someone that they suck, or their music sucks or the print on their shirt sucks.

Every time I go home, I’m just mentally bombarded with all that’s wrong that I can’t find what’s right. I don’t want to sink into despair when I get back. The extra long flight home is already causing the dread to build where I have 3 hours instead of 1 to be in a can with people and not hyperventilate. It’s actually why I prefer driving home. I can pull off and have my panic attack and then move on with my life. You can’t do that in an airplane without freaking people out.

I’ll bring my music for the wait to board and for the lay over but I’ve never been able to listen to my music on a plane. They always make me shut off my mp3 player. They always make me put away my Nook. I can bring a paperback, I suppose. It doesn’t shut out the noise of the world.

Hell, these days. I wear headphones for the 8 minute walk to work. It freaks me out when I walk home in the silence of the day.

So, I’m going to keep breathing.

I’m going to keep my calm and I hope to God I’ll be able to endure the flight home in relative peace I don’t have to show up at work Monday exhausted because I had a panic attack and couldn’t sleep.


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