Lack of Purpose (Makes A Girl Nervous)

It was with devastating clarity that I realized there is no way I’m getting my job back.

It happened yesterday. I was talking to D—, this guy at my old job I really respected, who was asking me if I was applying anywhere. He asked me what I’d like to do, what field I wanted to work in. I wanted to cry. There. I wanted to work there, with the refugees. But it was then and there that I knew that wasn’t going to be.

After I was laid-off, I was replaced by a series of interns and volunteers. All those territorial thoughts I had about them usurping my role and me being a merely notch below unpaid labor turned out to be true. My position had become redundant.

Knowing that solidified another heartbreaking fact—that despite all the love I had for the refugee center and everyone there—it wasn’t enough. Compassion and care is nice when it’s backed up with resources and skills and I had neither: I can’t speak another language (todavìa). I’m not qualified to be a case worker, grant writer or resettlement agent. I’m not even a foreigner. I’m simply just another dumb, monolingual American.

Going home after volunteering all day and feeling like I could be a part of the RC, I skid right back into grieving. Only instead of going through to anger or acceptance, my despair exacerbated my depression (big shocker right? A depressed, unemployed writer) and last night I came the closest I’ve ever been to attempting suicide.

A lot of people might find it stupid and short-sighted to try and kill yourself over a job you only had for 11 months but the pain wasn’t caused by unemployment or financial stress. Relationships mean a lot to me. Every job I’ve ever had I’ve gotten extremely close to at least one person. This was different. I got ridiculously close to a lot of people. To me, I didn’t lose a job. I lost an entire extended family.

And on the day you’re supposed to feel the most loved, I felt way too much. So much that it overstepped the love and affection that I was supposed to be showering the actual love of my life, my boyfriend of 4 years who did his absolute best to support me through this loss. It wasn’t enough though. After 12 days of alternating from sobbing to sleeping to smoking, I decided on Valentine’s Day my heart couldn’t bare it anymore.

I asked my boyfriend to make me some tea. When he left I locked the bedroom door, wrote what I wanted to ne my suicide note, I went to my window opened it up and got my desk.

I lived on the second floor, which even in my dumbass distress knew wouldn’t kill me, so I decided blunt force trauma was going to do. I was going to fall head first and either crack my skull or break my neck.

I was bent over my window sill when the cold air made me want to pee. Seeing I didn’t want to die pissing myself, I got off my desk and went to the bathroom.

That short walk to the bathroom changed everything.

I stayed.

The rest of the night I went to crying and complaining and to going back to crying, though I did end up showing Sal how good empanadas are (what’s not to love about essentially a deep-fried taco?).

It was easily our least romantic (but probably more historically accurate) Valentine’s Day. (St. Valentine was beheaded for his beliefs in noble love).

I really don’t have a point to this story. I’m still lost and jobless. I’m volunteering back at the center, which I know sounds a lot like getting dumped and going back to your ex just to be your booty call, but I still believe in the cause.

I’m applying for jobs and I’m writing.

I’m still not all the way better but I didn’t cry today so that’s already better than yesterday. Hopefully I’ll find a new purpose in life. Until then, I’m just going to stay put and keep my window closed.

This is what UTICA looks like

Beloved strangers and spambots,

Just in case any of you are wondering how Utica is reacting to the Muslim Ban/ Trump’s executive orders against refugee resettlement:

(I’d add more but I didn’t actually take any pictures. These one and the one above were taken by my sister’s friend Josselyn A’s snapchat which i stole but she hasn’t called me out for it so we should be good.)

I won’t say much about my experience. I just want to say two things: 1) not only did my boyfriend and two of my closest friends attend the rally with me but so did my mother, my sister and my 13-old-brother who stood with me in the freezing cold for two hours without complaining. Even more proud to say he was talking shit about the people driving by who didn’t honk or wave at the rallyers in a celebratory manner (his joke: “you can tell they voted for Trump. They’re looking away.”)

2) The fact remains that I am not always proud to be an American, but I am ALWAYS proud to be a Utican.

–“El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido”!!!


Help The Helpless: Support Refugee Resettlement NOW

Dear Beloved Subscribers, Random Visitors, and Possible Government Workers,
I know I haven’t done so but I’d like to thank each and everyone of you for subscribing to my blog. For whatever reason you chose to waste valuable time reading my crap and I can’t thank you enough for it. 
            Unfortunately, I came to you for another reason: As many of you might be aware, Trump’s stance and rhetoric on refugees and immigration in the United States is one of unfounded, selective cruelty. His “travel ban” and his executive order on which countries he deems “a threat” has put a lot of Refugee Centers throughout the country at high-risk: So far, budgets have been slashed and jobs have been lost. Including my own.
            As heartbreaking as that is for me, it’s devastation does not compare to how it impacts the refugees both in this country and outside of the country desperate to breathe free (but rebuked by the Trump administration to “suck it up and buy a snorkeler”). 
            Which is why I come to you guys, the gentle internet users of the world (?): At the end of the 120 day ban, refugees from countries not banned already by the Trump Administration will be allowed to come back into the countries. They are going to need resources and people who know how to facilitate those resources. They cannot be cast aside just because our “Business Savvy” President erased everyone’s jobs. This cannot happen to our communities, especially the city where I come from, whose entire economy was rejuvenated by the refugees and the center that abled them to become productive members of society. I’m asking you to donate, if you can, to 
           We only have less than 4 months before the ban is lifted and my goal is to raise at least $10,000 AND, as incentive, I am offering prizes to those with proof of donations:
  •    Those who donate $20 will receive a random book from my own stash. If you’re like me and will literally read anything, you’ll love this: Maybe you’ll get Han Kang’s “The Vegetarian”. Maybe you’ll get Eminem’s autobiography “The Way I Am”. Maybe you’ll get my 10th grade European History Textbook I never gave back! Hell, maybe you’ll get that copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that I drunkenly wrote “Taylor Swift sucks” into the columns of the book. IT’S JUST THAT RANDOM.
  • Those who donate $35 will receive TWO random books and I will crank call anybody of your choice and harass them in Spanish. Laugh until you pee as I call your bewildered grandfather “una pendejo de burro”.
  • Those who donate $50 I personally write you a short story of your own design: Want me to write a 10 page story of you fighting off 10-foot tall Zombie-Vampires while Maggie Smith narrates the entire scene? I can do it. Want a hardcore erotic-fanfiction of you getting fucked by your celebrity/ fictional crush? I can do it. Hell, for the lazy students, want me to write that paper on the influences of secret police organizations during the Decline of Stalin? SEND ME YOUR EMAIL KID AND I CAN FUCKING DO IT.
  • Those who donate $75 AND have a book they desperately need reviewed: Not only will you get two random books, I’ll read your book, PRAISE THE SHIT OUT OF IT ON MY BLOG (even if it’s bad) and on every social media platform I have, I WILL ALSO personally critique your next novel idea and give you my honest-to-Jebus opinion on it.
  • Those who donate $100, I will send everything above PLUS an obscure band-tee. Be the hipstery-hipster this side of the Mississippi with a band-tee from a small upstate New York town that nobody will EVER hear of.

So please. Do what you can! If you can’t donate, I get it but still do your civic duty: Call your representatives. Express your outrage. Have your voice be heard! We can’t let this presidency determine the fate of our friends, neighbors and community. We only have so much time before who knows what will happen.Thank you!!