It's strange. Me and a couple of gal pals have had this text-thread-thing going awhile. We're all single ('cept I'm now not, but not married either), and I think we like knowing we're there for each other. At the same time, I haven't mentioned this website to them.
But when I have good news, like I finally finished my taxes for 2012 (or rather, my CPA did) and I'm getting a refund? I will text them. Usually someone will respond. On one extremely crucial date recently, someone did respond and pretty much ... well, let's say I can never repay her for her support.
In case I've not mentioned, I'm kind of going through a rough time. I feel like I've been "going through a rough time" since 2003. I messaged a friend today that I think the most stress-free years of my life were 1998 - 2003. I was finished with college. I had a job and could make ends meet, and I was all "focused on my career," and everything was going as planned, but not much was changing. I remember being bored. I got a dog. And I remember being lonely sometimes, but I don't remember being as stressed, as full of anxiety as I am.
No one likes to read about this stuff. Even on Facebook ... It's surprising, but people don't want to look. The people who care don't want to anyway, because it hurts them to read how much you're hurting. So I came here, but a few of you I know (who don't live anywhere near me) are here, but I know you don't really want to hear the bad stuff either. There's enough bad stuff out there. I'd rather read e-cards all day long than read the news media and be reminded how crazy this world is.
And you know what else stresses me out? Is that I want to control it. I want to know the end of the story, because I want to know that it all works out fine in the end. I want to know that everything is going to be OK, and we're all gonna be happy. But no one can tell me that for sure.
It's a new month, and I even though my job is crazy (and I love it), and even though my son's schedule is CRAZY, and even though I have a case with the Office of the Attorney General that is "in the legal process" (pause ... ya'll, this is what's driving me mad ... how is *this* MY life? A case with the OAG?), even though all this shit is going down for real ya'll? I gotta make some changes. Seriously, I thought I needed fewer changes? But I'm second-guessing now ... I've been in a rut for too long ... I need MORE changes.
I either need to focus more at work, ok, shit, I definitely need to do that because I can see some opportunities ... but I am also going to have to go back to yoga, which I've abandoned for more than two months. I last practiced in February, so I'm pretty sure it's actually almost three months.
And I'm dreading looking at myself in the mirror. Do you know that scares me more than I can even explain? I spent 17,610 minutes sweating in that studio last year. If I can operate a calculator, that's 298 hours, and I'm not even sure how much healing that equals, but I know it kept me sane when I was laid off. And if it could do that? Then maybe I really should get back to it, especially since the ex moved to town.
I'm also dreading putting on my cute lil yoga outfits and missing the definition of my muscles that haven't had a good workout in quite some time. And I have my third annual local run against cancer coming up in a few weekends, and yoga will help me prepare for that since I never train in advance anyway.
OK, I think I'm really out of excuses. I am. But I'm terrified. "No one ever died in the yoga room," they say. I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid of exposing the wound, but that's where the light will enter, and it needs to be healed.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Monday meltdown
Well, not only did I survive 23-hours and the overnight, I managed to survive having my son visit with his father for a couple of additional hours Saturday afternoon ... and Sunday was mine. And it was a good Easter Sunday, truly.
But after all the stress of the weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown Monday morning. The school phoned and indicated that my six-year-old divorce decree, which I just recently shared with them, does not prevent my son's father from picking up from school ... but that they would give me a courtesy call if he was to show up, since that's not our regular routine. The only way to prevent him from coming to the school would be to put a temporary restraining order in place ... le sigh.
Also, my son's father phoned me yesterday to inform me that he has secured "transitional living" housing nearby. He hasn't given further details because he wants to wait until he signs the contract ...
Anyway, I crumbled yesterday. I took my son to school, called in sick (and believe me, I was sick), and stayed in bed for most of the day crying ... crying until my eyelids were puffy and swollen. I had a few friends on the text line, in whom I was confiding. Several suggested I get up and shower, that it would make me feel better. But the idea of standing upright very long was too overwhelming, so I ran a bath, and took my phone in the tub and texted some more ...
I was texting a college pal, who knows me well, even though I don't see him too often ... and I asked him, in the midst of my depressive spiral yesterday ... "You have known me a long time. Do you know why I hate myself so much? I don't know why."
"I actually do," he replied.
"OK, tell me!"
"Well, it's complicated," he began. "You are fiercely protective. You want to create a perfect childhood for R, but that's impossible. You are smart, pretty and, most likely, misunderstood ...
Being intelligent creates loathing -- often self loathing. It is hard, when you are dialed into things on a deeper level, to not resent even yourself for being unable to change things that seriously deserve change. You and I are more alike than one would think," he said.
Dude was speaking my language, and I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to hear that I was not alone. Even if I was only reading words on a screen. Words were being sent to me, and I felt that someone else understood.
Later in the conversation, as the water in the tub was cooling, and we were wrapping up, I texted him, "We should write a book."
"Oh god. No one in their right mind could digest it," was his response, which made me laugh out loud, really hard. I promised I would download The Shins record. Even though I've never downloaded a record. Port of Morrow. I'll be looking for the CD because I'm still a CD kind of gal. He knows me well, but he doesn't know that I've never downloaded an album.
The tub water was cold by now, and I shivered, as I released the water. Laying in a ball in the tub, I reached for a towel, and I put my head in it and I sobbed. And screamed. At God. And sobbed some more.
But after all the stress of the weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown Monday morning. The school phoned and indicated that my six-year-old divorce decree, which I just recently shared with them, does not prevent my son's father from picking up from school ... but that they would give me a courtesy call if he was to show up, since that's not our regular routine. The only way to prevent him from coming to the school would be to put a temporary restraining order in place ... le sigh.
Also, my son's father phoned me yesterday to inform me that he has secured "transitional living" housing nearby. He hasn't given further details because he wants to wait until he signs the contract ...
Anyway, I crumbled yesterday. I took my son to school, called in sick (and believe me, I was sick), and stayed in bed for most of the day crying ... crying until my eyelids were puffy and swollen. I had a few friends on the text line, in whom I was confiding. Several suggested I get up and shower, that it would make me feel better. But the idea of standing upright very long was too overwhelming, so I ran a bath, and took my phone in the tub and texted some more ...
I was texting a college pal, who knows me well, even though I don't see him too often ... and I asked him, in the midst of my depressive spiral yesterday ... "You have known me a long time. Do you know why I hate myself so much? I don't know why."
"I actually do," he replied.
"OK, tell me!"
"Well, it's complicated," he began. "You are fiercely protective. You want to create a perfect childhood for R, but that's impossible. You are smart, pretty and, most likely, misunderstood ...
Being intelligent creates loathing -- often self loathing. It is hard, when you are dialed into things on a deeper level, to not resent even yourself for being unable to change things that seriously deserve change. You and I are more alike than one would think," he said.
Dude was speaking my language, and I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to hear that I was not alone. Even if I was only reading words on a screen. Words were being sent to me, and I felt that someone else understood.
Later in the conversation, as the water in the tub was cooling, and we were wrapping up, I texted him, "We should write a book."
"Oh god. No one in their right mind could digest it," was his response, which made me laugh out loud, really hard. I promised I would download The Shins record. Even though I've never downloaded a record. Port of Morrow. I'll be looking for the CD because I'm still a CD kind of gal. He knows me well, but he doesn't know that I've never downloaded an album.
The tub water was cold by now, and I shivered, as I released the water. Laying in a ball in the tub, I reached for a towel, and I put my head in it and I sobbed. And screamed. At God. And sobbed some more.
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