A Reminder to Myself That I'm Human

I’m tired. I frequently get congratulated on my accomplishments since getting released from prison 14 months ago, but I’ve developed a sort of fatigue. Similar to how social media is saving snapshots and inane details of our life for us to remember forever, Google Calendar has saved the previous year of my life in appointments.

Hundreds. I have gone to hundreds of appointments. I didn’t actually count, but in the first four months of my release I frequently had two a day. I had so much lost time to make up for. Appointments for financial aid, my Veteran Service Officer, Veteran advocate, housing assistance, admissions, advising, scholarship workshops, legal services, medical, dental, court mandated drug treatment, UAs. I’d wake up early at the halfway house and leave for my appointments, which were sandwiched in-between my classes, and then at then go right to work until late at night. I did that most days for months and months.

The alternative was to sit aimlessly at the halfway house, which I didn’t consider an option. It was do something productive or do nothing and sit in quasi-jail. I frequently spent the maximum permissible time out of the halfway house per day—16 hours on the go.

Home confinement was similar as I made dozens of appointments to advocate for myself and my rights and try to overcome the myriad barriers imposed upon me by the criminal justice system. Successes were invigorating and kept me going. I maintained a 4.0 GPA and full-time enrollment. I suffered through a crippling bout of carpal tunnel/trigger finger/tendonitis in my hands that only resulted in dozens more appointments. I kept working despite it. I got my passport, my motorcycle license, I traveled to the Oregon State Capitol to share my re-entry concerns. I went to all the conferences, I volunteered, I networked. I berated myself if I slept more than 7 hours in a night. “Oh, what, you didn’t sleep enough in prison? You didn’t have enough time to rest in prison?”

I fatigued myself. We are only human. I must rest. I have a hard time allowing myself rest when I learned so viscerally in prison that having a purpose in life is what creates satisfaction. I’m struggling to find the balance between productivity and rest. As a junkie, I “rested” 16 hours per day. OK, I nodded off and slept. Same difference. Then I swung to the opposite extreme and for my first year out of prison, I tried to negate my humanity and operate at a machine’s pace. This American culture encouraged me and made me feel like it could be done. It nearly broke me.

I’m going to try to rest now. My study abroad for Argentina doesn’t start until mid-May. Until then? Read more, write more, rest more. I could use some advice on how to find the balance between the “there’s so much to do” bustle standard of American culture magnified by my lost time and the ability to rest and actually experience life as it passes before us.

I still have the voice in my head, berating me for resting. “But there’s so much to be done!” …But I am only human. For now, I will rest.l