To be frank, I am unwell right now, mentally and emotionally. I’ve been using all the alone time to work on my passions and side hustles, which have honestly helped me come back to myself. When life gets hectic or tough, I need to stop neglecting the passions that double as coping mechanisms, but that’s me getting off topic.
Currently, I am sitting at Washington Cafe in Washington, NC, in attempt to take a break from the community that is contributing the deterioration of my mental well-being. The past few weeks have been me battling a bad depressive episode (we’re now on the incline) and dealing with the isolation and loneliness. The community I thought I was building? They have repeatedly failed me. I am in dire need of support. I am incredibly lonely. I am often left in the dark, though topics are brought up in front of me. I am forgotten… until they need a sounding board to talk about themselves. There are quite a few unread texts sitting in my phone from people who randomly decided to text me about their problems without so much as a “Hey” or “How are you?” There are a couple of people, in particular, who will ask how I’m doing then interrupt me to talk about themselves, and next thing you know, the phone call is forty-five minutes long, with most of the time being spent with that person talking about themselves.
Maybe it makes me sound selfish, but every once in a while, I want someone who actually listens, like the cousin who just surprised me with a phone call while sitting at this cafe, making me extend my time here by an hour. Though, it’s okay because she listens and cares, and I desperately wish she were here with me… or at least someone who has the same welcoming, understanding, authentic spirit as her.
I’ve been reading Hungerstone by Kat Dunn in an attempt to finally finish it, and on page eighty-five, she perfectly describes how I’ve been feeling: “I was too much, too loud, too emotional, too clumsy, too self-involved. My existence was a burden to all involved with it, and I resolved to never make any demand if I could help it. Then, perhaps, I could be tolerated. Then, perhaps, I could be loved.”
Anyway, to give my mental a break from what I’m experiencing and try to cope with, I am spending a few hours in Washington, NC. It’s a small town I’ve heard many things about, and after taking Clover to the beach for the first time, I drove through the city on the way home and determined I would visit it (without her).
Well, today is that day; I would choose the day when there’s almost record heat. My day in Washington started around 10:30 am when I arrived at the Washington Cafe. I ordered a mocha frappe with a shot of expresso, and because I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I also ordered a breakfast platter that consists of a croissant, eggs cooked to your liking, cooked potatoes, and savory sausage (that could be substituted with bacon).
Now in comes 9:48 pm Jamilah, who finished documenting her day on pen and paper to later transcribe and add to the blog. Well, now is the time to transcribe.
After finishing what I call “fun work” while listening to No Hard Feelings by The Beaches, I left Washington Cafe and began the short walk to find a shaded area by the water. Though it was incredibly toasty outside, there was a slight breeze that helped, especially when the breeze gained some intensity (without being overpowering). On the walk, I took in my surroundings. There are multiple FREE parking locations in the harbor (or is it historic?) downtown district, a dream for city-prone folk like me. I also noticed a lot of the small shops and boutiques are geared towards a specific demographic; though I was ready to do a small amount of shopping, this definitely saved me money. I definitely do not dress like the stereotypical Southern Belle.
When I made it to the waterfront, I found a tree with a bench under it and sat for a while. In the midst of the heat, I did some more Hungerstone reading and somehow, simultaneously, cleared my head. During this time, I found another quote that perfectly encapsulates what’s been going through my mind (for context, they’re playing a game):
“Carmilla deliberates over her next move, finger pressing against her lip. ‘Disappointment can be too much to bear, yes.’
‘Better not to invite it in.’
‘I do not agree.’ She discards, then lays down her hand, cards neatly aligned in victory. ‘Disappointment tells us what we truly wanted. And to want is to be alive.'”
After reading in the sun for forty-five minutes, it was lunchtime, and I began the search for food. There were lots of “bar & grill” places or purely cocktail places; a good portion of them offered THC-infused beverages. That was not the vibe I was going for, so I stopped at Angi’s Mexican Kitchen. I had to walk down a long hallway, past other small businesses to get to the restaurant; I’m sure I looked like a deer in headlights when I first arrived. Once I got my bearings, I ordered a watermelon juice drink, and as someone who despises watermelon, it was incredibly delicious. It was literally juiced watermelon, sugar, and water; I gulped it right down. My meal was Tacos Mom’s Way (without pickled onions), and those were some of the best tacos I’ve had in a long time.
I ended my time in the small town’s downtown by visiting Pamlico Books, an independent bookstore. I spent thirty minutes walking around, exploring every genre, wishing I had enough funds for an Enemies-to-Lovers candle. Instead, I purchased a Kennedy Ryan novella, a birthday card to mail out, and a sticker for my planner.
It was when I got home that I realized the book was a misprint.
