Is that ok?

When I went to England last year, I was stopped at the border, and held for five hours before they let me into their country. Before being placed into a waiting room, my bag was searched and examined. Every little piece of paper, and item I had was looked at, and asked about. “What is this?” “A letter. Is that ok?” “What is this?” “Some aspirin, is that ok?” “What is this” and so on and so forth. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, tearing my things apart, asking what every item was, being in control, on top, while looking for some scrap of evidence that what I was doing was infact, wrong. Every time I would answer a question I would automatically respond with the answer, and a follow up of “Is that ok?” I didn’t realize it at the time, its only looking back that I remember these things.

So much of my life seems to be like I am being held at a border. Waiting. Being questioned. Looking for inconsistencies in my stories, my life, mistakes, and all the while Im asking “Is that ok?”

I hate that. I hate having to prove myself to someone, I had asking some if its ok. If I approve. If I am free to go. I hate relying on someone for something. I hate being at the mercy of someones opinion. Hate it. But if I didn’t answer the questions honestly, or if something didn’t make sense at the border – I would be sent back to America, and all the money, time and energy I had spent planning this trip – would have been wasted. Even if I hadn’t done anything wrong.

After a long five hours wait, two of the people I was staying with had finally gotten their stories to match up with the border official, and I was sent with the warning to be gone in a month.

So much of the time it seems I am waiting for someones story to match mine. And in waiting, I find that they will never match. No one knows my story the way I do, and in a way, that’s a comforting fact, and in another way…its not.

I want to fit in like everyone else. It’s a selfish thought I know. I want to blend in, and stop sticking out. When people ask a question, so much of the time I want to just give a made up answer to satisfy them…but I am held to my word, and always wonder if I should follow things up with “Is that ok?”

Lately, a lot of what I do seems to be wrong. Almost as if nothing I do is or ever will be right. I don’t live up to certain standards, don’t hold the kids to the right amount of responsibility. I don’t put them to bed at the right time, don’t expect enough from them or expect too much of them. My jobs interfere with each other. The bills pile up, and Im always late on atleast one. Grocery shopping is my worse enemy, and the deals I do end up snagging are always, somehow, usually, wrong.

Sometimes it just seems pointless to go on. Pointless to get out of bed when I know that 99% of what I do, will be wrong, and I wont be permitted access to the country.

Im stuck.

While people examine my life, and pour through its contents, pulling every little thing out and asking me what it is – I am asking them faster than they can ask me – Is that ok?

Im afraid Ive fallen into the trap of trying to please everyone. Or atleast, trying to please one person who seems like everyone. I cant please everyone, I cant please one person. And everything I do is always wrong. Never right. Its never ok. It’s the wrong brand, wrong idea, wrong though, wrong action. Its the constant feeling that I will turn around and be met with opposition because well, I screwed up. Again. Im tired of living with that, tired of thinking that, and tired of trying to please the world when all I want to do is give up. Its never been easy, but its never been hard either. I don’t know how to stop it, I don’t remember how to give the world the finger and genuinely not care what others think. Atleast to some extent. I don’t remember how to let things roll off, and little things not to become big deals. I don’t remember. And maybe I don’t want to. Because if I remember correctly, it wasn’t easy getting to that point, it may have been better…but it wasn’t easy, and I don’t know how many more times I can get up. Before I just stay down. Because atleast that’s easy. Atleast that’s…ok.

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