What “Emptiness?”

I didn’t know what to call her. What could I call her? The baby wasn’t even mine. What’s worse is I don’t remember how she got into my arms. I had no idea what to do except go home and see if I could figure things out.

The last thing I recalled was something I did two weeks ago, where I interviewed for a position at a mental hospital. I wanted to be one of the technicians looking after patients, but I guess they either didn’t need me, or they called and I don’t remember it.

There was only one thing to do. I was getting ready to enter the workforce, and couldn’t support a child. I felt I would be doing a great disservice to that baby if I didn’t put her up for adoption. I imagine she’s found a good family by now.

I feel like I’m running faster than I’m supposed to, and what do I have to show for it? No, this can’t be a good way to think. I know life’s not about trying to reach one unattainable goal after the next, even if that’s what it feels like half -possibly most- of the time.

Not for a moment did I regret what I did, but sometimes I think of a name I could’ve given her. My mind would make up possibilities that I’ll never know because I chose not to be her parent. I think I’m meant to make a difference in another way. There’s no one way to do much of anything. Different variables play out in different ways in peoples’ lives, I believe.

Well, that baby’s going to grow up into a fine young lady, I tell myself. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I need to be chained to a crib 24/7. One day, hopefully, we’ll meet again, and when we do, I’m going to be proud of her, as much as I possibly can.

I’m still looking for work. Maybe I’m not meant for behavioral services. For some reason I’m drawn to those who have mental disorders. I just can’t imagine it being easy to have your own brain turn on you. Someday I might be able to work in that capacity, but it seems like nobody’s hiring. It’s either that or I’ve become really bad at interviewing overnight.

I’m single, not really looking for love, or the responsibilities associated with a child. I’m just here to try and smile when someone’s frowning, or open the door for an elderly couple when I get the chance. It’s the small things that matter. I’m content living a simple life, but I do really need to look for work because my savings are almost gone.

Being single is working out really well for me. I don’t feel any kind of a void being by myself. I think it’s easier just having me to deal with. I don’t think I could handle the habits of another person in my space without getting irritated, unless it’s only for a short amount of time.

One day, I might run into that baby all grown up and not even know it. Why do I feel pride in a child that’s not my own? My memory’s not that bad, not to the point that I can’t even remember whether or not if I was pregnant.

I’m thinking about volunteering while I work. I love how there are so many jobs out there, so many things to learn, so many people to interact with. I was thinking about serving at soup kitchen on Saturdays.

There’s talk going on of an organization that’s looking to treat mental patients -for free. I sense there’s a lot of money that's going into the project, but that’s just my gut feeling on the matter. Maybe I could look into what this organization is. I could see myself working for a cause untainted by the stain of money, but I need to support myself, too!

Pardon me.

I’m getting worked up over nothing.

I don’t even know if this organization’s real or not. Soon enough, the truth will manifest itself. Until then, I’d be happy with a job doing anything. I could work in a warehouse. I don’t want to, but we’ll just have to see. I’d like to learn more about that rumor.

For now, I’ve gotta check out this new video game that’s just hit the market. For a moment I imagined playing video games with who could’ve been my daughter. I don’t know if I can shake this misplaced sense of longing, but it's too late now.

She’s gone, and that’s just the way it is, and it’s my fault.

The night was cold. I was sitting outside on my small patio, thinking until my gears started squealing in protest. That’s how I would fill the “emptiness,” working for this mysterious entity, if I do feel I suffer from such a thing.