This is going to be a quick post. Possibly somewhat incoherent. Definitely not as well structured nor as poured over or edited as usual. Not just because I sit at my desk with a pile of things to do in front of me; not only because I feel overwhelmed; it isn’t because my personal life seems to be a North and South battle colliding into each other; or because I am sick and feeling much more pain than I really would prefer to have to at the moment and because of this pain and illness I haven’t been able to run which is (I feel) the most effective form of stress release for me. This poor excuse for a submission can be blamed on a combination of all of that above.
My sudden need to feel sorry for myself, a place I despise being in, is what has made me want to write in spite of everything else I should be doing. I always felt like I could handle pressure pretty well. I have withstood much in my past; abuse, divorce, family disapproval and disappointment, overwhelming work responsibility, all of which I took on like a champ. So why is everything so difficult now? I am doing everything I am supposed to do. I have asked for help. I am on medication. I have a therapist and a psychiatrist. I do still put the ‘brave face’ on at work but I have to keep my job secure or it all comes crumbling down. I ask for space and patience when I need it from people who know when pressure can be too much. The pressure can still be too much. The pressure is too much. Am I depressed again? Is it anxiety?
I feel like such a loser. I hate that I am not strong. I can’t stand that I still go right to an exit strategy. Which means I am still very sick. Have I really taken all those steps forward and admitted my issues to go falling right back into this hole again? I wonder if I will ever find my way out. Or will I go out the exit door…
For right now I stay stuck. No going forward and no moving back. I can only habitually stick with my routine. I have disassociated with my feelings. I am neither happy nor sad but don’t like that I am making everyone else around me unhappy. Funny how I can still feel the pain though. I am a robot, with white-hot lightning rods running through my body. I wonder if I should pick up the phone and call my doctor, or continue through my day. Once I see my children’s faces I am okay. Until then, the world is a dangerous place.
All I want, what I wish for everyday, is to snap my fingers and be in a different place; a place where it is safe to feel. In this place I can be who I really am and the happiness is real. There isn’t anyone I have disappointed in this place and no one I am hurting. In this place the last thing I want to be is numb. There aren’t any emergency exit signs. I would love to feel something more than so much pain.