Pandemic

Home. Everyone is (or almost). Self-quarantine. A virus spreading all over the world. For real. Pandemic. So weird. Few cars on the streets. (Though more than I thought on the freeway.) There’s a little panic fluttering in my stomach. When I’m busy, when I’m helping, I feel good, I feel strong. When I sit like this, alone in my room, I feel like I’m in a tunnel far away from everyone, alone. That does *not* feel good. Then I feel spinning. Out of control. No footing. Nothing to hold onto.

Stop trying to grip. Go with the spin. Close your eyes. Relax. Let go. You are safe. And then it balances out. The Universe seeks homeostasis. Equilibrium. And now I feel connected. To the Universe. We are One.

bad

It’s that bad. People always say why didn’t they say anything. Why didn’t they reach out. Why didn’t they get help. I’m getting help. I have help. But it’s bad. It’s very bad. I’m plummeting. I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel brave. Another day. Another hour. Another minute. I can’t do this. And yet here I am. Still trying to hang on. Still trying not to look for exits. Still trying to care about the people that love me. It’s hard to see the love through the tears, the pain, the misery. They’re not in this. They don’t have to feel this. Who is anyone to tell me to hang on. I’m so scared. I can see the precipice from here. What am I supposed to do. Drug it away? That’s temporary. It’s not gone, just hidden. Then returns. Again. And again. And again. I want a do over. In a different body. With a different brain. A stupid one. One that isn’t self aware. I am my own torturer. I don’t know what to do. In a minute I will stuff all of this back inside, and go back downstairs somewhat put together, and pretend again for a while. Until I can’t hold it in, and then it will spill out like this again.

Death

Yesterday I wanted to die. I was at the end of my rope, and ready to let go. Six months. I’ve had six months of bacterial infections in my gut, diarrhea, anxiety, depression. Six months trapped. Six months of trying to be strong, trying to rally, faking it, forcing myself to stay productive, running on empty, watching my body slowly deteriorate before my eyes. I’m falling apart. I have nothing left to give. I’m done.

Yesterday I was scared of myself. Over the years in battling my depression and anxiety I have often wished everything would just stop. I wanted to disappear. Wanted to not exist. I needed a break, an escape. Temporarily. I didn’t want to die. I needed relief. But yesterday was the second time in my life, second time in six months, that I was ready to go. I didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings anymore. The friends whose hearts would break. My husband’s trauma. The destruction it would cause my daughter. I just couldn’t do this anymore. I was so scared.

I’m a coward. I fear pain. I’m in pain, and I just can’t cause myself more. I fear failing at suicide. Then having to deal with the repercussions. Guilt and shame. Everyone else’s feelings. Not being trusted. Being judged. By myself as well. So I didn’t do anything. I took my anti-anxiety pill. I called a friend and I sobbed and sobbed. I medicated it away. But is it, away? Where did it get tucked into? When will it slip out again?

I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of this physical illness. I’m tried of my brain’s lies – which are so hard to ignore. I’m tired of monitoring my diet, dealing with the constant pain, taking medications, taking supplements, watching my body disintegrate. I’m tired of hoping that any minute this will turn around. I’m tired of being disappointed and devastated every time I get worse again.

Today is better. Today I have a little more in my tank. How long will it last? When will the floor fall out beneath me again? It’s so hard to trust any improvement. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any minute I can crash back down to the bottom. Instead of watching for the fall I’m going to be grateful that right now I’m not there. Right now is here. Here is…ok. I’m grateful for ok. I’ll take it. It’s not happy. But it could always be worse.

sick

I hate this. I hate the way my body feels. I hate the coughing. I hate the diarrhea. I hate the not being able to sleep. I hate the exhaustion. I hate the nausea. I hate the runny nose. I hate the congestion. I hate feeling weak. I hate having no energy. I hate disappointing my husband. I hate scaring my child. I hate sitting here crying out of self pity while trying to eat scrambled eggs so I can have something healthy in my system. I hate how an illness can bring me so low emotionally. I want to go home. There’s nowhere to go but the adult home I’ve created. I want my mom to take care of me. But my real mom wasn’t a good mother, so I really don’t want her here. I want some mythical home and mom that doesn’t exist. I want an escape from here and now. I want someone else to make the decisions for me. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to exist. I want a reprieve. I want someone to take care of me. But I’m the mom now. I have to take care of myself. And I’m so tired. So so tired.

step one: trust yourself

“There is no greater battle in life than the battle between the parts of you that want to be healed and the parts of you that are comfortable and content remaining broken.” 

~ Iyanla Vanzant.

am I the only one

who gets depressed when their birthday is coming up?

quote of the day

“Control is never achieved when sought after directly; it is the surprising result of letting go.”
~ James Arthur Ray

pneumonia

I’m trying to understand why. Logically it doesn’t make sense. My brain is not panicking. But my body is. The sensation of not being able to breath, that’s the inflammation in my lungs. The nausea from the antibiotic that grips my throat is chemical. The stomach cramping (tmi diarrhea) also just a side effect. The exhaustion, that’s my body fighting this thing.

So why the panic. Why does my mind so easily wander over to old thought patterns – get me out of here, I don’t want to exist, make it stop. It’s just a combination of symptoms. All with their own flavor of discomfort. But a week of discomfort. A week of this misery. And I’m losing it. It’s wearing me down. It’s frightening my husband.

I can’t get comfortable. When I am beside myself with anxiety that is always my primary complaint. I’m so uncomfortable. Uncomfortable existing. I didn’t want to be anymore, it was all too much. I don’t want to be here now.

But this is temporary. This is an illness. This isn’t going to last forever. And yet, my body is responding as if it was. Panic. Feel like I’m barely holding on.

Help me.

Got to hold it together. Got to act as if it’s all okay. Don’t want to frighten people.

Help me get through this. Make the time pass faster. Please.

Influence

All around you, all the time, is language that is absorbed into your brain. Advertisements telling you “you’re lacking, buy this” or “you’re unhappy, buy that.” The voices of your parents, alive or as ghosts. Those are particularly hard to ignore. They adhere to your insides, leach into your bloodstream. Contaminate. The voices in your mind. The echos in the very back. The broken records that blend in with background noise. That we don’t even realize are there, are guiding our boat, are triggering the storms. So many intrusive messages you didn’t choose, you never had a say in.

But what about the ones you do get to choose. The facebook group posts. Are they angry? Are they distraught? All of their voices march into your head. Onslaught. Their cries of pain, their desperation, your brain soaks that in. What messages are you letting in? The company you keep. The friends and the ‘friends.’ Do they complain constantly? Are they victims of life? Or do they have hope? Do they believe in humanity? Do they seek out ways to improve, to help others, to evolve? Look around you. Make conscious choices. You might not have had any control over the world around you as a child. But you are no longer that child. You get to decide your habitat. You pick the decorations, the furniture, the art on the walls of your mind.

The anchors you cling to from familiarity, only you get to decide when to let go. The knives you’re squeezing in your hands. Only you get to pick when you’re ready to set them down.

What are you going to choose?

half-sister, my sister

29 years later
we meet in person after all of this time
I remembered you, a faded memory of adoration
then we found each other online
and you recounted your tales of pain
now finally we’re together
once again you recount your story of woe
you suffered, you suffered, but you survived
we share the same cruel father
our torture presumably the same
this devastation is your signpost
upon which you hang your identity
it’s familiar because I once did the same
‘Look at me, world, see what I overcame’
a badge of courage and strength
giant chips on my shoulders as warnings
to set the stage for all relationships
you want me right there with you
marching and holding the bloody flag
I am conflicted because you are a dream
a mythological creature I hoped to see someday
I don’t know what I thought I’d find
But I want our connection to be more than the past
I don’t want to keep reliving the pain
comparing scars triumphantly
I feel discomfort, unease
a part of me pulling away
I have spent so much time dismantling the past
I healed, recreated, renamed, rebuilt
I want to focus on now and moving forward
into health and happiness and ease
I don’t want to walk backwards
the road to the light was…uphill
I like it better here, I can breath again
I don’t know if you would join me
the intensity you live doesn’t say