Expectations and Other Drugs: Case Study #1 Kelly Smith
Profile:
Middle School Teacher
Married 3 years
No Kids
1 Cat
K. Smith’s Journal Entry: July 30, 2017
You know that it' s the beginning of the end when you're insecure about whether or not the damned cat even wants to be here with you. I knew that it was the beginning of my end when I decided to stop giving a fck about who knew that I was a paycheck-to-paycheck living teacher who genuinely hated other teachers and despised the whole institution of education all together. I was one of the ones who would rather be doing something else. I didn't give a fck who knew that I over-drafted my bank account at least twice per month, or that I didn't care about owning someday, or that I even said words like fuck, or that I'm a married woman (on paper only)who never f*cks. I just stopped caring. At that point, anyway. My end started long before I stepped off the edge.
If you see everything in cycles, you would realize that only one degree counter clockwise separates two extremes. As a former hopeless romantic, quite naturally, I expected unexpected love to come along and rescue me from the suffocating mediocrity of my life. But that's not my story. As a lover of the feel-good story of overcoming insurmountable odds, I expected to finally get it, the common thread in my 101 self-help books, and rise from adversity to true abundance. Nope, didn't happen that way either. As a matter of fact, my story probably shouldn’t even be told because it kind of goes like this:
Press snooze. Press snooze again. Stare at him. Resent him for being able to sleep so well that he snores. Drink Coffee. Cry. Resent him for not knowing that this is always a part of my morning routine. Remind myself that this has nothing to do with him, according to Dr. Phil. Feed the cat. Morning motivation- the cat needs me. Go to work. Smile. Don't complain. Say yes. Drive home. Spend 7 minutes on the closet floor with my vibrator. It's enough for now. Read a chapter of The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need. Temporary inspiration. 12 A.M. and he hasn't made it in yet. Feel proud because I still don't care. Peruse Facebook. Mini breakdown arising. Recite a few motivational cliches. Keep calm, it gets better. Convince myself that Facebook is the devil. Deactivate my account. Empowering. Feel like I have a mini breakthrough. 3 A.M. I can finally sleep. I dream about flying or falling. I can't really tell. Press snooze two hours later. Press snooze again ten minutes later. Turn over. Stare at him. He is asleep, snoring, and even has a slight smile on his face. Keep calm, it is not worth it to kill him while he's asleep. I will not kill him while he's asleep. I won't do it. Not today anyway. Keep calm, drink coffee.
Slight variations of this routine had become my new religion. When I eventually became immune to the suppressants of my grandmother's Christianity, I couldn’t seem to find a stronger dosage to carry me on. I was still convinced that my grandmother had it right, but I'd rather blame Dr.Phil, Ralph Smart, or the damned matrix for letting me down, and I just can't bring myself to blame Jesus. Not yet anyway.
I found refuge in believing that the only reason that my cat was my best friend, and my only friend, was because I must've been a part of an evolved race of humans, and normal people just didn't get me or something along those lines. My saving grace was in a half pint of salted caramel frozen yogurt. My hope was built on nothing less than the law of attraction for the time being. I'd been working on my visualization skills and hopefully, once I'd figured out how to do it without regressing to my original thoughts of this all being total and complete bullshit, I'd planned on committing to the belief that I would someday win the lottery, and then buy the type of life that fits an evolved human like myself. It made enough sense at that time anyway.
I SEE a woman who has probably tried to meet everyone’s expectations all of her life. The fact that she is a teacher only doing it for the paycheck reveals that she chose a noble professional that won her some pats on the back, but it’s not something that she is genuinely passionate about. She probably married for the sake of being married and is now in a stale union, and she more than likely avoids having friends because the expectations alone would be enough to kill her.
I THINK that the fact that she no longer gives a f*ck about her failures being exposed shows real progress.
I WONDER if she’ll need to completely fall off the edge before she quits the profession, kick the husband to the curb, and detach from the cat so that she can make some real friends?