The endless struggle

The weekend was a struggle. A lot of feelings. A lot of emotions. A lot of fear and pain and desperation.

I made a point not to isolate. I met with some friends, people who care about me. I shared.

I still hurt. Especially at home, between the hours of 7pm and 10pm.

Last night, I needed to talk. I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. I felt so frustrated. So worthless. SO needy.

And, because of that, in the middle of the night, so anxious. 

It was not a good night. I would start awake, and the full reality of my previous days would settle upon my chest and take up residence, interrupting any chance of sleep I might have had.

This morning, I sent somewhat of an SOS text to my therapist. I needed some kind of help. Some kind of validation. Some sense that I am not failing as miserably as I feel like I am failing.

I had no choice but to do my job. And I did do it. But my emotions, my tears, were hidden just below the surface. At one point, the wave of emotion swelled so large in my chest I seriously had to consider my options–What can I do? Do I need to commit myself? 

The thought was fleeting. But terrifying.

I needed to talk to someone who cares about me–even a little–or I was going to explode all over the place.

I can’t keep it in anymore.

I ended up at my church, talking to my priest–a seriously great guy. He’s not a counselor–and not my counselor, who is still the best–but I trust him and believe that he is beginning to know who I really am. And, because of that, I have been able to share pieces of myself with him.

I left the discussion with a few assignments:

(1) Reach out to my closest friend. Be vulnerable. Share how much I need someone who cares right now.

(2) Keep taking care of myself. Keep changing and showing my husband those changes, unapologetically. Those changes might force some change in him.

(3) Ask myself: Do I think I am worthy of being loved?

I was doing good until question three.

It always seems to come back down to this one thing. 

Fuck.

never feel worthy of love. I like to THINK that I should be worthy. But I struggle so much with feeling unloved.

I feel like, if I am worthy of love, surely, someone in my life would show me love the way I need to be loved?

It is such a hard thing to grapple with.

This weekend was tough. I made a decision to baptize my kids. It felt like the right thing to do and I wanted to do it. My husband…not so much. He is so angry at God, at organized religion, for its inability to save his dying father. Forcing him to go to church with me is something I have stopped doing.

I go by myself.

This day, though, he joined me. He stood up in front of a crowd and said he would raise his kids in the religion.

He did it. Which is something. But he hated every minute of it.

And the stress showed. Especially once we got home.

This day was also something we felt we needed to share with family. My parents did not commit to coming. But they showed up.

My mother was clearly uncomfortable, clearly angry. My father mocked my choice to finally have the kids baptized and sarcastically welcomed me into the “world of the church and God.” He’s been pushing this for years, and seems to dislike that I made the decision on my own terms. (Or…something?)

We held a reception after the event. Nothing overly fancy–cake, coffee, and camaraderie.

love my church. It is one place I have started to practice spreading my wings. Being just mefeeling little pressure, and making new friends–without any limitations placed on me by anyone else.

It has felt like a breath of fresh air, and I have loved it.

However, knowing that I would have to share this safe place with my mother–the person who has hurt me and made me second guess the very core of my being–immediately put me on edge. My anxiety was bubbling at the surface throughout the morning.

I was so afraid she would turn on the charm. Trick others into believing she is such a fantastic person, and I am such a liar. Chameleons are such amazing creatures.

Instead, she flew the coop. Unsurprisingly, I guess. The moment I began pouring myself a cup of coffee, she was there. “Well, we are going to go. We have stuff to do.” 

This time, I didn’t let the shock overwhelm me. I felt disappointment–for a moment. But also, I felt some relief–at least she was vacating my sacred, safe spot.

My priest was standing right behind her. He heard the words. 

I am, at least, not making up what she does to me. People can–and do–see it. People who know me.

The loneliness–the ache–they are here. Maybe for awhile.

Maybe that will change. Maybe it won’t. I don’t know. But I can say, that today, at least–I did not explode.

I asked for help. I got some. I heard some words I needed to hear–that I CAN be loved–even if I don’t think so. Even if I only hope so.

And, for today, that is going to have to be enough.

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