Today I feel … inadequate.
I tend to pull away from people when I am upset with myself about something.
I need time to contemplate before seeking out a shoulder – time to contemplate if I even need to burden a shoulder.
I get very reserved, focused and quiet.
It’s definitely one of those days I don’t want anyone to ask “How are you?”
C’mon, we know most people don’t really want an honest answer to that.
I realize it’s a conventional nicety, but I ALWAYS feel obligated to work up a cheery “GREAT! How are YOU?” Whilst shaking pom-pons and somehow pulling off jazz hands at the same time.
Wish people would just say “Hello.”
I can say “Hello” back.
That I can do.
Just acknowledge me – I’ll acknowledge you back, we’re golden!
So yeah, clearly I’m still in stress ball mode.
I read the beginning of an amazing novel yesterday and had this stunned, authentic moment of “Holy Crap! This is REALLY good!”
In that same moment, I also became painfully aware of how NOT good I am in the arts. And no, there was no jealousy – there was a lot of pride and awe.
My fiancé wrote it.
We made a deal before he moved in with me that he would focus on his artistic side. Pursue his dreams. And I read this freaking epic flow of words and got so lost in and I KNOW, it must be published.
So, I began my retreat further back into my shell, because I’ve been feeling like I’m not holding up my end of the bargain, which is providing for my little family.
I have pets and people looking to me for emotional, physical and material support and I’m falling short.
I feel like I am anyway.
And that’s a horrible feeling.
What I do have an abundance of though, is love. And I’ll just keep plugging away at the other stuff … quietly.
(Here’s what my fiancé has been plugging away at if you care to peek. http://neopompeii.com/)
“It’s just everything – it’s worrying about Christmas, and the car … and always having to worry about things like that – it’s doing it alone, but I wouldn’t have it any other way – what we have … and not feeling well and not being able to go to the doctor – it’s being stressed out and not having someone to talk to about it. Because they’re going to tell me not to feel a certain way when I DO feel that way. It must be okay to feel that way if I feel it?? It’s when people ask “Feeling better?” with a raised eyebrow because your answer had better be ‘yes’ … it’s not being allowed to feel sad because you’re the person who makes people laugh. And on top of it all, I don’t feel well. And I’m sad. I’m just … sad. And no, it’s not forever – and yes, it will pass and I’m so grateful – I’m grateful for everything we have and everything we don’t have … but I’m just … sad. And I should be allowed to feel sad.”
– Me, after telling my son I couldn’t possibly vent to him.
I left work early today.
I couldn’t take one more second of holding myself upright when all I wanted to do was curl into a ball. I put a smile in my voice on the phone … and in front of customers who came into my office. I went above and beyond on my files – went in early today and cleaned. I pushed and pushed – and broke.
Monday I had a pretty bad ‘spell’ at work. Besides my heart condition – I think my body also tells me when it’s done holding things in.
My vision blurred in my right eye and my chest squeezed. I couldn’t get my bearings. I sat outside on a curb, taking purposeful breaths and feeling the wind on my skin until the spell mostly passed and went back in to work.
That’s what I do.
Remove myself, compose myself and return.
Yesterday I came very close to asking to use my barely used sick time. But I stuck it out. My ears have been hurting me – I’m dizzy and nauseated. But I stuck it out.
This morning, I came even closer to asking to use my barely used sick time – then remembered I had a meeting and had to approve a settlement statement so that a customer could sign their documents. So I went in.
I tied all the loose ends up and emailed both of my bosses asking to use 1/2 of a sick day.
The answer was yes.
I read an article yesterday on a hospice website. About the phases of death. I was making sure I was using ‘catabolic’ correctly in my last post. A catabolic state is when your body can no longer process nourishment – it’s so starved for it – it starts breaking itself down.
That’s how I understood it anyway.
And that’s how I have been feeling. Like there has been no nourishing input lately – that I’m sustaining myself and breaking down all my reserves.
So after my grand monologue that I wasn’t going to give in front of my son, I ended with, “I just want to hear ‘everything is going to be ok'”
To which my son replied, “Everything is going to be ok”
And when he hugged me – I sobbed harder. And he didn’t tell me I wasn’t allowed to feel sad.
I love him so very much.
Indulge me – and my foul mood.
You know, I read a friends blog who has Aspergers, and a common thread that I pull from her carefully woven words is that she is trying to process the world around her and her place in it. But what I feel from her words to a degree of envy, is that she knows herself.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I feel, right now, like a bundle of contradictions – my muscles and my gut tight with the many facets of me that don’t play well with one another.
I despise liars, cannot stand to lie – yet lie to myself.
I cry at romantic movies, and a part of me yearns for the fairy tale ending, while the rest of me knows no one could possibly scale the walls I’ve built around me.
I abhor child abuse – and yet, just this afternoon I spat ugly words over the phone at my son after I perceived that he lied to me, when he was suddenly ‘not hungry’ after I asked him what he wanted from the shop for dinner rather than a drive thru. The sudden, let down, it’s-not-good-enough tone of his voice hit me where it hurt. I seethed. Thinking, ‘Ingrate’. And let him have it.
I might as well have slapped him, because I know how painful venomous words are.
I am impulsive and ugly. I am better alone.
I am always so desperate to please, then resentful that people take so much from me.
I am contradiction incarnate.
And now I am home – and the door to my sons room is closed, and the light is off. And we may as well be a thousand miles apart.
And we are.
I’m in my self-hatred and he is probably letting a nap take him after licking his wounds.
I won’t open his door.
I am stubborn. I am grateful for every day and painfully aware of how, without warning there can be no more days – and yet I squander them.
I don’t plan for the future.
I am content with ‘enough’, yet also settle.
I work hard – I give and I give all that I have. And I am tired. I am not well.
Somedays I only know what day it is because my pill-box reminds me.
I count my blessings, and neglect them.
I am 43 and responsible – and inside right now I just want to curl into the smallest ball I can muster and sob my soul right out of me.
I’ve never felt so alone, and yet have so many friends.
I say I’ll bare it all on my blog and yet, almost every post I find I edit in some way.
Well not this one.