So much is happening.
It is hard to describe. And even harder to accept.
Today, I found out that my grandma–my childhood safe person, supporter, and cheerleader–has lung cancer. I can’t even begin to process the dark days that are ahead…days that are coming much too soon for me.
Yesterday, I went to the doctor’s office and got a new prescription for an anti-depressant. This, in and of itself, was an experience. I swallowed all of my pride and honestly answered the secretary regarding the purpose of my visit, described it to the nurse…and silently hated myself. I waited for my nurse practitioner to enter the room. I’ve seen her before–even then, she shared her own battle with anxiety and depression. I knew she would understand, but still…I hated to be there. When she entered the room and asked me how I was, I sighed and said, “I’m admitting defeat. I can’t get a hold of the depression on my own. When the anxiety retreats, I just fall into this deep dark hole.” We had a real and honest discussion. She was a human–not something that you always see in a physician’s clinic–and she shared her honest and traumatic struggle that began in childhood. I could definitely relate…and my heart ached for her. Especially when she began apologizing for crying and being unprofessional–I suddenly heard myself channeling my therapist and told her, “Don’t apologize for crying! You aren’t doing anything wrong!” (Oh, the irony here..if only you knew!)
It was a heavy visit. But, I left with a new prescription, and convinced myself just to swallow the damn pill. I would be fine.
…The good news is, I have been fine. Two pills down and no ill effects. Here’s to sincerely hoping that it helps level me out.
Life has felt so unrelenting. I am struggling with fractured friendships–wondering what I did wrong and how I can make it better. All while realizing that I really did nothing wrong–but being unable to control my desire to “fix it.” I have been struggling with attending a daily night class and swimming against the crowd…realizing that I am the different one and not everyone will like me. It, frankly, drains me each and every night, and leaves me questioning whether there is, truly, something wrong with me.
I tell myself, each time, I have real and true friends in the real world. People who love me for me. But the loss of friendships, and the bullying of other adults, is seriously taking its toll on me. Making me question myself and my self-worth. I remind myself that they will have their own reactions–not my problem. Except, I lay in bed at night replaying the smirks, the turn of heads, the moment I got the news my mom’s dog got ran over and died and attempted to show my ex-friend and she shook her head and literally didn’t react. The moments that my subconscious sees over and over again, and analyzes over and over again.
Today, again, I totally freaked out in my therapist’s office. My anxiety won. She says it is okay…but I hate it. It is embarrassing and it makes me feel freaking crazy. I had to move…had to get it together in the bathroom. I paced up and down, willing myself to breathe. I was able to calm down but this feels so incredibly out of character for me.
I am mad..so mad at myself. I should be mad at other people–mad at a friend who writes me off for such a small reason. Mad at a group of adults who are intolerant to differences and who act like immature teenagers. Mad at cancer. Mad at depression. Mad at anxiety. Mad at my parents.
Instead, I am so mad at myself.
Mad at my inability to cope. At the fact that I somehow messed up and lost a friend. Mad at myself for feeling the need to do the right thing and making waves, instead of just shutting up and making my life easier. Mad at myself for saying that, because I know the right thing was the right freaking thing. Mad at myself for being too connected to my phone, as a means of distraction, instead of connecting with my kids. With my grandma. Mad at myself for losing it–for needing my counselor and her reassurance pretty much every day just to survive this awful moment in time.
I am so. freaking. mad.
I know I need to stop resisting this. I know it. Hell, I’ve even written about it.
Why is it so easy to be so angry at myself, but so impossible to be mad at the people who really deserve it?
Why does opening up this can of worms, right now, feel so anxiety provoking?
And, most importantly, how can I learn to just start accepting where I am–even when I don’t want to be here? Let’s face it–I will never want to be here. No one does. But, how can I shut up that highly argumentative and critical voice that challenges every compassionate thing I tell myself?
……I hope I can find out.