Tangled Thoughts

Something has been wrong and I am not sure I can quite put my finger on what. Sure, there is the dread of work and the stress of the holidays, but deep down I don’t feel like that is it.

My temper is short and my patience is little. Anxiety welcomes me like a brisk breeze off a cool winter morning. Depression creeps in behind, icing everything, making moving difficult. As the hours go on, they mount to a snowstorm and then build to a blizzard. Some days start as a blizzard and slowly begin to settle in to the unease of being out on a cold winters night with no where to go.

I do my best to celebrate the small wins: It took only 10 months and not five years to realize I was unhappy in a situation. I am able to wake up in the morning without being in a full blown panic attack. I made it through some of the darkest days and I still have not acted upon the thoughts of taking my own life.

That list was actually really difficult to come up with.

My body feels like it is in a constant battle, two sides ripping each other a part, vying for their own desired outcome. The struggle of learning how to live with the anxiety and depression, learning how to cope. About a year after my word became this dreary cloud of depression slowly growing to incorporate burst of anxiety, flashes like lighting bolts tearing through the sky, I am trying to begin taking my life back… in small steps.

As I play my hand of eagerness and excitement, it is matched with anxiety and defeat. I try to make commitments, allowing people to hold me accountable so that what is currently the stronger hand cannot hold me down. But days and hours before my stomach is in knots. The anxiety is nauseating, the comfortable bed calls my name, the exhaustion takes over my body and all I want to do is to sleep. Pushing though, I attempt to focus, like now on writing this, but my mind darts from one thing to another.

Crap, I need to get ready for that call tomorrow. I should really be doing that, it’s important. What’s it matter, I most likely wont get it anyway. I will be trapped in this situation for ever. God, I would rather die.

Fuck, the laundry. Wait, is that the sound of Kevin’s door? I asked him to let me know when he would be home. Actually, he has been gone a while… is he okay? What is he doing? Shit, the laundry.

There is something else you are forgetting. Why can’t you remember anything you need to do any more? Everything else is more important than this, why are you sitting here typing away on this keyboard – what is wrong with you?

These thoughts aren’t real, this isn’t reality, but fuck these feelings are. I feel like I am going to vomit, my chest hurts… is it time to take my next dose of medicine yet?

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Fuck, just do something, anything. Finish this tangled mess of a “blog post,” get your ass up and switch the laundry. For the love of god, would you remember to drink some water! What ever happened to that bullet journal? Yet another thing you failed at. Everything you have heard, the things your therapist says – you should be doing that.

You don’t want to get better. You want to have a label attached to you forever, something to show you are chipped, tarnished and broken. You are broken. You are scared of getting better. Being better means…

That call, I have got to get ready for that call. It feels like my only hope… The only hope that I will some how royally mess up. Damn it, the wet laundry is still in the washer. The only reason that seems worth getting up for is going back to bed…

At one appointment, my therapist told me that as I became stronger and developed more coping skills, that my body would begin to be ready to let the hidden secrets I have tucked away begin to surface. Maybe that’s what is happening.

In group the other week we were talking about bullies; everyone seemed to have this story about how they were bullied as a kid. How they were pushed away, grew a mountain of hate, wanted to die or for everyone else to die. Some talked about being bullied into adult hood and we debated if bullies were a necessary part of life. I sat quietly, adding in the tidbits I had learned about adult bullies from that one podcast, but nothing more.

I don’t think I was bullied as a kid. I think I got along with people in elementary school, I am pretty sure I had friends. I am pretty sure I at least thought I had friends. I remember people playing tag with me, I have photos of birthday parties where we all were doing the Macarena.

In middle school I remember playing the trombone and it being taller than me. I remember wanting to play the saxophone. I remember playing a Looney Toons medley that was my favorite. I remember my civics teacher who, on the first day, told us that he did not like the name Sarah. The history class I took in the dark trailer when I was in eight grade and the weird sense I got from the teacher. I remember being terrified of being pantsed and not wearing sweatpants, without shorts underneath, for close to 10 years. I remember breaking up with a boy after he got me flowers and a teddy bear because it was too much. I remember writing him a note, telling him he was the weakest boyfriend and we were done, slipping it to him before class and from across the room watching him get the news. I remember going ice skating and roller blading with my best friend, her boyfriend and mine. I remember my boyfriend skating behind me, hands on my hips, body pulled close and feeling his boner pressed against my ass. I remember a girl being there at the start of my 7th grade year and then not – it turns out she was pregnant. I remember standing up for myself once, I kicked a boy for something he did to me, I was sent to the office and had lunch detention. I remember yearning to hang out with the kids who stood under the tree in front of the school. The girl who we called Shrek and wrote terrible things about “on the pole.” The terrible things she wrote back. I remember having a teacher come to the house to teach me, because I was too broken to go to school. I remember friends being too scared to come visit me because the DC sniper was on the lose. I remember watching Monsters Inc. hundreds of time.

… I have completely derailed from where I was. But, for the moment at least, I feel better.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s