What if we could reel through our memories to the exact moment before the salt went into the wound? That moment of pure perception before the hardening began?
It's very sad and perplexing at the same time, when you're treated like a person worth getting to know. It feels like a completely foreign concept. It hits your brain in the most awkward ways. Like it almost feels like they're wrong. Like you're doing them a disservice by letting them get to know your insides. There's something about rejections that does that to us. We tell ourselves that we know better; but knowing something and feeling something are always going to be parted by the great sea of rejection and all other things that have wronged or ruined us, every single time.
I used to think that coffee was a grown-up drink. Then I thought alcohol was the grown-up drink. Now I have fully achieved adulthood when I understand that it is water that is the grown-up drink. I saw this on a meme and it makes me chuckle every time I take a drink of something. Alas, I keep forgetting it's the one thing designed to keep me alive.
Most people never heal because they stay in their heads, replaying corrupted scenarios.
Let's talk about how hard it is to open up to someone about being sad for no reason. About how hard it is to explain that you have this heavy feeling in your chest, for no reason. How hard it is to understand you're having a panic attack while just taking a walk in the most familiar of places. Let's talk about how hard it is to feel like the entire world is on your shoulders and everything falls on you and you don't know why.
Having a bad day where you can't be alone with your own thoughts doesn't mean that you don't love yourself. It just means that shit is getting real and that right now it's easier to show up for others than it is yourself. Why else would anyone else voluntarily spend 40 years fighting against their own nature of being a people pleasing pain in the ass like me?
If it's one thing I might have figured out, is that you don't always have to be the strong one or the broken one to win. Sometimes just doing the bare minimum to get through your day and come out of the fog in one piece proves you're capable of being a champion.
Completely unfiltered, I have zero energy right now. I put in for vacation time for this week and I'm on day 4 of 5. 3 weeks ago, decision fatigue had smacked me in the face and I don't have the energy to shower, make food, eat or get out of the house and I think my body relates these tendencies to the time right before I had my breakdown after the first half of 2016 wrecked havoc on my entire life. In turn, it's making me scared that I'm going to get back to that place again, even though I know in my heart I'm nowhere close to it. The entire month of March can go die in a hole.
So far, this "vacation" has included having a zoom meeting with an advisor of sorts that I sobbed the entire way through, a phone call with a resource director that I was too overwhelmed to talk to, a day with my kids that was just crap - insert a commercial, "Coming To A Blog Post Near You..." - getting rid of 2 car loads of stuff out of my house, new furniture that is not put together (thank you procrastination as a born coping skill), and today, which has actually been pretty great despite my brain's attempts to thwart my joy. I got some much needed yard work in, another trip to Goodwill, took a car ride with my best friend, held a baby that liked me, let a 2 year old experience pretty nails for the first time (purple sparkles, of course), and saw a new movie with my son.
That being said, if you are in that place otherwise known as the tarpit of crap, I get you. That you feel numb. That you don't want to interact with humans. That you've turned down the things you love because they require actual energy. I also get that you don't want to feel this way, but it's easier than asking for help. So that's why you stay where you are.
Life is not about who you once were. It's about who you are now and who you have the potential to be. 15 minutes ago I was talking myself out of being a total piece of shit (in my own head, of course) because I spent an hour looking at my desk still in the box and just the thought of getting up and putting it together was too much. But then, I decided that if I didn't get up right now, that it wasn't going to get done. I took a breath, and it's now done. My house still looks like every drawer and closet threw up, but it's a start and the amount of victory that I feel after accomplishing the one task that my brain was too frozen to let me do in the 8 days since I bought it - one for the Olympics!
I'm truly done living in a constant state of overwhelmed. I know that I need to move on from some things in my life, but first I need to accept the fact that not every chapter's closet has to be neat and tidy before closing the door on it forever. Sometimes you need to slam the door and walk away. Anxiety isn't what you see in the movies; it doesn't always roar for all to see with hyperventilating and hand wringing sobbing messes. Sometimes it snuggles into the places we leave open without realizing it; the soft places that we think we've safeguarded. It creeps in around the edges. It blurs the lines of reality and make believe. Believe me when I say that what you can't see is far worse than what you can. If I had a tattoo on my head, it would read "Icebergs are always larger than they appear" because what you don't see are the sleepless hours on end and the riot going on inside my head at 2am when the house is still as midnight on Christmas eve and I lay in bed sobbing tears over demons that I cannot name; although the bags under my eyes might shout it loud and proud for me, the fucking traitors. What you don't see is the inability to make decisions, my unwillingness to help myself, my distance from people that I love, my lack of interest in things that I love doing, my lack of interest in being creative and desire to do so. I have to remind myself to breathe, but only realize I need to after finding myself gasping for air. I'm drowning on dry land. It's all too much yet not enough at the same time. I'm so grateful for the people that love me and understand who I am. I'm a mess, but somehow able to self support - the only one who I've ever been able to rely on.
So remember this, some of us look great and we will lie to your face; but all of these faces that I show you are the faces of my anxiety and if you could hold it to like one of those big shells to your ear you'd hear a mixed tape of untrue statements set to the rhythm of my irregular heartbeat. This too shall pass. It doesn't, but here's to hoping for someday.
I think that we all forget that it's okay to struggle, including myself. Today, I was going to post a selfie with my rosacea in full flair up with a smile, but then I saw the picture. It was really painful, and I'm allowed to be upset about that. I am also working on giving myself permission to feel sad about that. To feel the feelings. That's healing too. It leads to allowing myself to treat my body with kindness. "What's the kindest thing that I can do for myself today?" I ask. "Take a step back and assess. To decide that I am in charge of what I want today."
I keep coming to the same conclusion every single time I stop to think about it. My life has never been about me or what I want. I don't know what to fucking do.
Back to the highlight reel:
I call her after my fight with him and ask her if I was overreacting. I mean, I 'm right to feel that way that I do, right? I'm not crazy like everyone says I am - those who have no idea who I am on the day to day. She's the first person that I called when Nana died, when the boyfriend before this one cheated, when the baby died inside of me. She listens until I finish sobbing, then she tells me a bunch of things that I swear are magic spells, because I instantly stop apologizing for being in love with someone that dismissed me with one word. I can feel my feet again at the sound of her voice. I can wiggle my toes, I can walk away. We change the subject. "Feel like burning some shit?" We talk until our throats are raw and look like two hearts wrapped up on chords. "Call me tomorrow, ok?" OK. Thank you, I love you.
My definition of spiritual growth: Do I care about stupid shit less than I did yesterday?
I've decided to not be sad on the weekends. From this second forward, I will wait until Monday. I will cry on the fucking clock. I won't let capitalism win.
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