You ever have one of those days?

For me, those days seem to come in groups rather than as isolated events.

I can point to plenty of examples, but let’s start with 2023. I’ve spoken at great length about everything that happened during that period. Looking back, it feels less like “one of those days” and more like one of those days stretched across a year and a half. That eventually gave way to another difficult chapter as I tried to navigate disability, retirement, and all the things that come with having your life unexpectedly rewritten.

This past weekend, I attended my niece’s graduation. Honestly, it was probably more than I was prepared for.

I don’t regret going. A lot of my family was going to be there, and I hadn’t seen many of them in quite some time. Everyone was kind. Everyone was welcoming. There were no problems and no drama. The event itself was lovely.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t stressful.

Crowds have become difficult for me. Graduation ceremonies are, by their very nature, crowded, noisy, and chaotic. A few things triggered my anxiety, and there were moments when I had to step away and collect myself. Part of me feels guilty about that, but another part understands that sometimes protecting yourself is exactly what you’re supposed to do.

Nothing bad actually happened.

What happened was that I walked into an already stressful situation and added an overwhelming number of people to it. Even with my trusty service dog by my side, navigating large groups has become difficult. As if anxiety wasn’t enough, my stomach decided it wanted to participate in the festivities too, making the entire experience considerably less enjoyable.

The past few days have made it difficult to maintain a positive outlook. I go through these phases from time to time. I suspect most people do. I’d like to believe that eventually there will be a departure from that negative undercurrent that seems to run through so many parts of my life.

What I think many people don’t understand is that from 2023 until now, it has often felt like one bad thing after another.

More than once, someone has said, “Well, it can’t get any worse.”

I’ve learned not to trust those words.

Every time someone said them, life seemed determined to prove them wrong.

In a relatively short period of time, I experienced four deaths in rapid succession. I began having what I later learned were strokes and transient ischemic attacks. I struggled with substance use while trying to avoid dealing with everything that was happening around me. I lost much of the local social circle I once had and watched people quietly drift away.

A while back, I wrote about the Don Henley song Dirty Laundry and the line:

“Kick ’em when they’re up, kick ’em when they’re down.”

I’ve felt that way for a long time.

Sometimes it feels like people are drawn to disaster the same way spectators are drawn to a NASCAR race. Sure, they appreciate the skill involved, but let’s be honest—part of them is waiting for the crash.

My real friends will object to that comparison, and they’re probably right. But there are always people who, consciously or not, wonder what train wreck is coming next. Sometimes it even feels like they take comfort in someone else’s problems because it means nobody is paying attention to their own.

Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe not.

Either way, I’ve found myself increasingly left to my own devices.

For someone who hoped for a different social outcome, that wasn’t easy to accept. Yet there is a strange freedom that comes with it.

The people who still stop by do so because they genuinely want to be there. I don’t have to perform. I don’t have to entertain. I don’t have to put on a floor show to justify my existence.

As I sat in the hot tub tonight, thinking about all of this, I realized that aside from perhaps two other people, I’m the only person who regularly uses it.

That thought led me somewhere unexpected.

Back in May of 2023, my future seemed set. I knew exactly where I thought my life was headed. I had a plan. I expected to follow it.

Instead, everything changed.

Had I possessed a crystal ball and seen where I’d be today—living alone, rebuilding my life, and largely walking my own path—I probably wouldn’t have believed it.

What I do know is that by the time I hired the attorney and filed the paperwork, I had no intention of turning back.

Going back meant accepting the abuse.

Going back meant accepting the chaos.

Going back meant continuing to have my PTSD weaponized against me, remaining isolated from friends and family, and pretending that everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t.

I’ve said this a thousand times and I’ll probably say it a thousand more: if he told you something about me, there’s a very good chance it wasn’t true.

Isolation was one of the tools he used most effectively.

Judging by the amount of local support that disappeared afterward, I suppose he succeeded.

Oh well.

Like I said in my last post, it’s time to move on to different situations.

The nice thing about this stage of life is that I get to choose.

I get to choose who has access to me.

I get to choose what relationships are worth maintaining.

And if I decide I want to be a hermit for a while, that’s my choice too.

What I do know is that my dogs love it when I spend time with them.

And I know my mother would probably wish I had spent less time worrying about what everyone else thought and more time appreciating the people—and animals—who never left.

Maybe that’s the lesson hidden inside one of those days.

Not every loss is a tragedy.

Sometimes losing what was hurting you is simply the first step toward finding peace.