Barely Here

“I smile because I have no idea what’s going on.”

When I was little, I had a keychain with this very saying on it. At the time, I thought it was cute, and all of my friends did too. I remember laughing until my gut hurt just from reading these words, almost as though they were the recipe for the perfect joke. The scary part is that even now – twenty years later – I could still say the same thing.

But if I’m completely honest, I would admit that I smile for an entirely different reason nowadays. I smile because that’s what’s expected of me. I smile because nobody likes a sourpuss. I smile because if anyone knew just how dead I feel inside, they’d run as fast as their legs could take them.

July will make one year that I’ve been without a job. When I was first let go, I never imagined things would get this out of control. I thought that if I hit the pavement, networked, and persisted in my job search, I’d be cashing paychecks within a month or three.

Boy was I wrong.

Now I find myself going in a million different directions, all of which run into a dead end. Of course I’ve looked for work in my field of public relations, but as that’s not proven to be fruitful, I’ve also added administration, journalism, and teaching to the list. My head is spinning out of control, and my motivation takes a hit with every rejection received.

I just don’t care anymore. I don’t care to job hunt; I don’t care to shower; I don’t care to go anywhere or do anything. I don’t even care to write anymore, and in fact, I’m a bit surprised that I’m even typing this right now. I’ve literally been reduced to nothing more than a limp mass of lethargy, and I couldn’t care less.

I’ve gotten to the point where I have no will to get up in the morning. I literally open my eyes, and my stomach turns at the thought of another purposeless day. From the second I feel the sun shine through the window and onto my face, I’m ready for it to go down again. Against my own will, however, I crawl out of bed.

“Come on, Tara,” I say to myself. “Let’s get this stupid day over with.”

If I do bother to get out of bed, it’s for the little things. I bother to get out of bed for my dog. I bother to get out of bed for the mere hope that maybe – just maybe – today will be different. Of course, it never is, but hope is – if anything – eternal. I’m beginning to think it’s rather gullible as well.

I’ve always believed that if you live every day for the sole purpose of pleasing God, that everything will work out as it should. Merely playing a role isn’t enough to make Him happy; you have to feel it in your heart as well, as He is quite familiar with your true intentions. Love thy neighbor doesn’t mean you should simply be nice…you should genuinely view everyone around you as a brother and sister, regardless of how they treat you. Live every day with a joyful heart, and all that you do will be pleasing to Him.

The scary part is that I’m beginning to lose this faith that I’ve cherished for so long. I wonder if God is even listening to me. I’ve always lifted my worries up to Him, and things worked out for the best, but this circumstance has put such a strain on my faith, and I’m not sure it’s up for the challenge. My prayers have become few and far between, and my heart is anything but joyful.

Last night, all I could think to say to Him was “help,” over and over again.

Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t care anymore.