2023 Said, “Hold My Beer!”

Will 2024 be better?

This should be a year of new beginnings. That is what we all desire as we flip that calendar to January, right? A fresh start. Setting lofty goals to achieve great things. But 2023 was rough, y’all. I merely survived, so I’ll count that as a win.

It started with a run streak that coincided with a dry January that I somehow still committed myself to despite having to unexpectedly help plan my father’s funeral. Which happened on January 4th of last year. 

I was not emotionally prepared to return to the church where so many unpleasant things happened in my childhood, but I did for that event. 

Some parts of my year were amazing, like going to England for the first time. It was a bucket list trip made even sweeter by experiencing it with my younger daughter. I wrote a lot. And I made a point of reading more books, especially ones banned by my county. But the year was marked with much more disappointment than anything else. 

We watched our country devolve into some kind of dystopian nightmare of rescinded rights for women, people of culture, and the LGBTQ community. A world where education is devalued and ignorance is the gold standard. Where local governments consider books more dangerous than guns. 

I found myself standing up and speaking in school board meetings about the value of many of the books they banned. I spoke about how reading books with themes of sexual assault helped me realize that my instances of abuse were not my fault, as I recognized the same patterns in my life through their stories. The board may have been listening without their ears, but at least I spoke my truth. My county ended the year with almost 100 books banned from public school libraries. 

Never could I have imagined the multitude of bad things that happened on my bingo card for 2023. Like having my marathon canceled as I was running it. Or that my neighbor would shoot a bullet through my house. Or that I would lose my shit over that to the point of requiring inpatient treatment, missing out on my two favorite months of the year. If only my astronomically expensive health insurance covered mental health services. Now I also carry the guilt and added burden of being in debt for my treatment. 

I should write a novel based on all of the chaos of my life, but my time in rehab has proven how ordinary my life is. I could count on one hand the number of women I met there who didn’t include surviving a sexual assault as part of their story. 

Considering that 1 in 4 American women have experienced sexual assault in their lives, I suppose I am very ordinary, indeed. 

It’s also not uncommon to experience trauma as a result of religion. That’s a part of my story, too, and is being discussed more frequently as a community of those of us who have deconstructed from organized religion grows. 

I wish I could say that it’s unusual to be a victim of gun violence, but that’s also a pretty common phenomenon in America. 

It’s sad how mundane these traumas are. How we’ve become numb to all of this. I’ve done so much in my life just to adapt to survive it all. And living to survive is not fulfilling. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, it is even terrifying. 

So why does it seem like everyone else is strong enough to handle their shit, and I’m not? Why do I feel sorry for myself when wars are happening overseas with atrocities far worse than what I’ve been through? Doesn’t this make me selfish? 

The shooting happened on October 8th. I’m still not recovered despite spending 45 days in treatment. I still have nightmares.

My latest recurring theme? I desperately need to shower, but can’t find one that is available or functional, so I continue to exist covered in filth. I can’t seem to be allowed to cleanse my life of all of this ick. 

My dream the other night was over the top, though. I had bought a boat for some reason, but I was unable to drive it. My dad took over. I was obsessed with redecorating the ship and refinishing all of the wood. 

We were sailing in bright blue seas, and then suddenly came upon several other boats. We ended up docking on an island that was just a small strip of land in the middle of nowhere. It was crowded, and everyone was partying. 

But the fun time was interrupted by a siren warning of a tsunami, and we could see it approaching from both sides of the island. I happened to be on one of the highest points, handing onto a scraggly tree. My mother was with me but left me to fend for myself. 

It was strange, though, because I wasn’t scared. I’d simply resigned myself to the fact that I would likely die, and tried to make peace with it. I hoped the end would be quick and painless. I woke up before that happened.

The next day in the real world, there were stories about enormous waves hitting the coast of California, and this New Year’s Day began in Japan with an earthquake and tsunami warning. Weird coincidence? 

My 2024 will begin with a court date to start the criminal trial involving my neighbor, his grandson, and his grandson’s friend, who are all partially responsible for the shooting. I fear that the punishment will be inadequate and that these young adults will have the charges dismissed. I have to be prepared for that possibility.

I keep telling myself that if I can just get past this point, that initial court date, I will be able to proceed with my life. 

As much as I feel defeated by the events of last year, I have to hold hope that things will improve in 2024. I will get justice for the wrongs committed against me and my family. That democracy will prevail in the U.S. And that our world will begin to value all humans as equals. That we will all find some level of peace.

That’s a tall order, I know.  But at the core of my soul, there’s still an idealistic twenty-something who thinks she can change the world. The clock is ticking…

___________

Hope is a dangerous thing. But it’s necessary to survive in today’s world. Do you have hope? 

As always, I hope you all are safe and healthy.