RealMental

I’ve been in a not so good place for a few weeks now.  I keep running through the list of possible reasons, and I’ve settled with the prognosis of “it is what it is”.

I have friends with Jerry Springer lives that I want to solve, or at the very least ease their discomfort.  Helping is not an option, I have to just walk with them and love them as we go along.

Sometimes it is as if I am walking through a world of grenades, and I have to be constantly aware of my position.  Everywhere I turn, there is unbearable crazy and if I am not careful I will fall into one of the pits.

Maybe others just shrug off their crazy family and friends.  I try to do that, really I do.  Some days it’s an obtainable option.  Pretending that I am somehow trapped in a book about the lives of others and it’s all some type of fiction.

One person has quit their job in order to pursue the life of BDSM, not worrying about the future or about their children and the effect it will have on them.  Another can’t stop shooting dope, has no interest in sobering up for her child.  A man that told me his sisters had sex with each other after drinking entirely too much alcohol.

The soccer mom that drinks and smokes pot before she picks up her kids from school.  A friend that  in order to bear the pain of losing their nine year marriage is looking for solace in the online sex world.  A person told me recently that if Obama had run for president a few years ago, he’d be dead by now (because of his skin color) and the person speaking wouldn’t be upset about it.

A person that blames their ex spouse for everything that’s ever been wrong in their life for the past forty years, debilitated and held prisoner by the hate and resentment.

Parents with over sexual children that usually indicates some type of sexual abuse, but unable to investigate further.  People who lie all of the time, so much that they’ve lost the truth in it somewhere along the way.

A man who must hide his sexual interests and live a double life, a man who’s been depressed and unhappy for years.

(Some of the details are changed to protect their identities.)

I am personally connected to living post secret postcards.

More often than I’d like, I wonder if I will eventually drown in this sea of crazy.  I wonder if the whole world is bonkers and I am the only one that sees how insane all of this is.

My friends trust that when they are speaking with me that I will listen to their deepest secrets, knowing they will not receive any judgment from me.  This is very important to me, to provide a safe place for my friends to unload their burdens.

I am not judging them as I write this, I love each and every one of them, and I accept them for who they are.

Sometimes, it just gets really heavy and I start seeing too much, hearing too much, and feeling too much.   I’m not complaining, I’m not unhappy with them, I’m just writing it out because things are not always as clear when they are stuck in my head.

I don’t leave things alone as much as I should.

I love too much.

I care too much.

I feel too much.

I worry too much.

I project too much.

My brain is a computer that cannot stop processing, processing, and processing over and over until I fall away with exhaustion and have to leave the world for a few days.

When I don’t answer the phone or return emails or go outside, it is because I am regrouping, I am resetting my controls, I am finding peace.  I’ll come back.

Eventually.

About three months ago I made a decision to stop contact with a few of my family members.  Some very key members of my family that have helped to guide me, shape me, and make me want to cease contact with them at some point in my life.

I did not just wake up one day and decide, “gee, this is a good day to stop talking to some people”.  It was more of a culmination of items over a period of years that brought me to the decision.  I’d considered over the years.  Not something that I’ve ever done before, never thought I would ever be able to.

It feels weird to me.

Now that I’ve gone and done it.

Stopped communication with a few of my family members.

At first, I could not believe how good I felt not being tethered to the legacy of unhealthy behavior that I’d convinced myself for all too long, that was “just how we are”.

Since the official “event”, I’ve happily reported to my therapist that I feel really good.  REALLY GOOD.  And, very free.

A very important thing to remember is that this is something I did for myself.  Not to punish anyone else, not because they are bad and evil.  It’s a road that I simply had to travel down in order to achieve some separation I so badly needed.

My history has been one of carrying other people’s anxiety.  No one asked me to do this, it’s just how I’m made.  Having spent many years going in the wrong direction for other people, I am learning how to go in my own direction.

This is something I’ve learned recently, by taking this action.  I can be influenced easily by others if I trust them.  This isn’t unusual –  it’s a common human behavior –  to be influenced by those we love and trust.  The key is to not forget who we are, and what our own story is.

Over the past few years I’ve had some almost insurmountable obstacles in my life, emotional pain that brought me to my knees and made me question everything that I thought I knew.

I could easily write about the huge injustices that have been “done” to me over the years, how unfairly I’ve been treated.  Sure, I could do that.  But what would it prove?  What would it solve?  What good could come of it?  Not any good, that’s how much.  I know this because I did spend too much time lamenting in that batch of unhealthy.

I suppose that was a necessary part of the process, until I realized that it wasn’t improving my quality of life in any way after my initial screams.

What IS important is how I process the events that happen in my own life.  What is important is what I DO with the events.  What is important is that I take responsibility for myself and my part in said events.

I love my family, I miss them.  I miss the good stuff, I miss the fact that they know me better sometimes than I know myself.  I hope they understand this, I hope they understand my need for solitude in order to find my way through this chapter.

I’m learning a lot, I’m gaining insight that previously eluded me, getting closer to the center, closer to knowing more.

About myself.

It comes with no warning, I was just sitting in a chair when I felt my insides begin to melt.  My first thought was to wonder if I was getting sick.

I don’t have “sick” symptoms, which means it’s the sickness in my head, thereby named “the ick”.  It’s when that visitor from the deep recesses of my mind comes out to tell me how fucked up and stupid I am, that I should just crawl into a cave and die.

The visitor isn’t welcome here, but it leaves things behind giving it the idea that it qualifies under squatter’s rights to torture me periodically.

Everything I look at around me is scary, the house is a mess, the floors need a sweep, vacuum and good cleaning.  The cushions are crooked on the couches again and that spot in the garage where the cat threw up a week ago is still there.

Why am I the only one that can see this type of chaos?  This isn’t how it was supposed to be.  Sure, it was supposed to be hard but THIS HARD?  Seriously?  Why?  Why do we do this?  Who came up with the idea that living with other people with totally different habits is enjoyable?

Sometimes I can send the visitor away by changing my thoughts, reading something inspirational, talking to someone on the phone, or writing about it.  Sometimes it happens quickly, sometimes slowly.

No matter how many times I bid it goodbye, I know that it will keep coming to check in on me.  Just in case I’ve decided to let it move in permanently taking me to depths of despair and depression that I never imagined possible.  Not ready to be it’s bitch yet.

There is no permanent cure, there’s only a daily reprieve that helps keep it manageable most of the time.  After each visit, I become changed.  Mostly for the better, always a little stronger, always a little more enlightened, sometimes weaker.

The benefits gained don’t make it any easier to accept.

My anxiety levels peaked about an hour before the time to be there and I panicked as I searched for something to wear, making myself late as usual.

Walking into the church late, you were already in the process of getting married.

I began to cry watching you up there exchanging your vows,  looking so beautiful.  Soon I noticed that you were trembling severely.  I recalled my wedding day and how nervous I was, crying through the whole ceremony.

Your entire body was rocking like you were being electrocuted, and I felt scared for you wondering what could be wrong.

As you walked down the aisle, as a newly married woman you said “don’t hug me, my ribs are broken”.  I knew as soon as you said that, why your ribs were broken.  Your engagement party was the weekend before.  You got drunk and you fell down.  Then I noticed the huge bruise on your forearm that you’d tried to cover up with makeup concealer.

I wasn’t there, I didn’t have to be.  As quickly as you told me, I knew.  My heart fell, knowing that nothing has changed and you are still looking for the answer in a bottle of vodka and drowning.  Trying to kill yourself quietly so you aren’t a burden on anyone.

It seems like a lifetime ago when I was the one drowning.  You took care of me, helped me when I couldn’t walk and talk.  You risked your life being a passenger in my car, driving with a person drunk and stoned out of her mind.

We’re sisters, you and I.  Only eight days apart in age, we’ve grown up together.  Our bond is one that will never be broken, no matter our physical distance.

Watching you in so much pain was unbearable for me knowing that I could do nothing to ease it for you, the day of your wedding.

You’d waited an entire week to go to a Doctor because you didn’t think insurance would cover it.  You’ve held pain in for you whole life.  Stubborn, strong willed, never living for yourself, never honoring your true spirit.

We’ve grown apart, mainly due to life events on both of our parts.  I miss you, and I know you are hiding from me.  Knowing that I will see the truth and feel your discontent.  My concern is almost unbearable for you to see.

You are slipping through my hands, and all I can do is love you as I watch you go.  Watch you dig in deeper to the life you know isn’t yours.  I’ll always be here, you can count on that.

She, so young starving for your affections.

You, too interested in cheating on your spouse to and pretending she didn’t exist with one of your suitors to be bothered.

What did you do to her, can you even remember what you did to her?

You were in a fog of emotions that you couldn’t understand, overcome by mental illness that eventually comes for us all.

Her desperation to be loved was so severe she began to hurt herself.   She hoped you would notice.  She hoped that it would solve the riddle of why you couldn’t love her.

You could have gotten help, you could have talked to someone honestly about your own injuries.  Instead you took the way of not dealing with it, blaming everyone else for all of YOUR problems.

You are not solely responsible for her being broken but you played a huge part in it.  Many years later, you get a second chance to make it right.

And you don’t.

Make it right.

You still cannot look at yourself honestly and try to repair what is broken in you.

Going to a new therapist every other month is not how you solve your problems, hoping you’ll finally find the one that will agree with you.  Agree that your entire life is shit because of what other people have done to you.

How many years have you been chasing this elusive, magical therapist that you seem unable to find?  There is no magic kingdom princess.  They told you lies.

Move forward, many years later.

She’s older, and moved beyond you.  She’s wise, she’s learning who she is without you.  She’s going to make it.  She knows you are very sick, she knows the love she spent so much time looking for was right in front of her despite the years of work you put into manipulating her to think otherwise.

“If you do this, I’ll buy you a pony” you lied to her.

She’s already advanced far beyond your range, she’s going to leave you behind.

My words are not meant in evil, I honestly hope that you might turn the bus around and break free from the chains that bind you in order to become the person you know you can be.  If for no other reason, than for her.

The darkness decided to come for a visit.  That same cold and lonely darkness that I’m so familiar with, it’s that unwanted family member.  My first thought is if I’ve remembered to take the Effexor and Thyroid Medicine. Yes, I have. The thyroid medicine is not a synthetic drug but makes me very sick if I forget to take it.

The day is spent wondering why about everything.  Why did that man just look at me like that? What does that phone call “really” mean? Why haven’t I been able to solve this problem? Why does it hurt sometimes so much that I can barely breath?

Why, why, why, why?

Due to this being a familiar experience, I regrettably have to note that there is some small amount of comfort in this unwelcome visitor.

Chemically, I’ve done my part with the medicine. Spiritually I’ve done my part. I am not hungry, angry, lonely or tired. Well, maybe I am actually tired. Yes, my sleep patterns have been off and I’m having a very hard time establishing a healthier routine.

A healthier routine is the answer for a lot of things, and I know without any doubt that when I am actively participating in a healthy routine I FEEL GOOD. Not “too” good, just balanced and healthy. Yet, as a human I’m apt to jump off that wheel and ruin all that feel good stuff.

Do other people that do not have mental issues and addictions have to work so hard at staying in the middle of the road? I always wonder about people that don’t suffer from the “crazy”.  Do they question why getting up, taking a shower and feeding ourselves is considered a victory for us on some days?

Some days it just comes. It isn’t because I am bad, wrong, stupid, overweight and ugly.

Some days it just comes.

Maybe if I don’t feed it or clothe it, like I’ve done in the past, it won’t stay too long.

Shortly after my two older sisters came in from their day journey, it dawned on me that the three daughters and one mother were all in the same house together. It’s not a typical situation, us all being under one roof. Depending on any of our moods, you never know what could happen with all of us together in the same place.

We aren’t the easiest bunch to understand or to deal with, and no one would ever mistake us for a  “safe WASP family.” We argue, we annoy, we fight. We say horrible things to each other, then we kiss and make up. It isn’t always that quick, sometimes months go by before feuding parties speak. We’re better than we used to be.

Despite the reason for us all being there (not a celebration, one of us has become very, very sick), I felt a genuine family tie to these women. These are MY wolves, I love them and together we could probably conquer anything. I love my sisters and my mother deeply.  It isn’t often I feel that kind of raw power and strength.

We’ve been through some really hard times but in that very moment, I love each one of them most of all. They are my roots, we are the same. As we rally around in times of crisis, we forget the petty bullshit arguments that we usually poke each other with.

Having us all together like that can sometimes turn into a dog fight, each dog trying to fight their way to the alpha position with lots of gnawing and gnashing of teeth with threatening growls. We aren’t always together, mainly because one of us lives elsewhere, one of us is drowning in a life of pure chaos, and one spends a lot of time taking care of our mother.

Our mother is the mainstay. She’s always there, sitting in her chair surrounded by her “things”. Empty toilet paper rolls, empty plastic bags, endless mail waiting to be read and coupons ready to be clipped. Her ashtray, her cigarettes, her coffee, our dead dad’s shoes. Everything right within her reach, to guarantee she won’t have to put much effort in retrieving something she might need. She is an agoraphobic hoarder that chain smokes in her house.

If you are visiting, she’ll often put you work fetching her stuff. She can tell you in minute detail exactly where everything is and where to find it. I assume this from years of having our dad retrieve things for her. I often wonder how that man survived all those years with four very strong and sassy women.

I like to believe he’s with us, sometimes I wish more than anything that he was still physically with us. We probably drove that man to his death with all our crazy combined. He loved us, each and every one of us and he was patient and kind and loving and he was exactly where he wanted to be. With us.

It’s good for me to have a moment like this, to realize that despite the dangers of hanging around with wolves, I love them all deeply. They are my pack. It’s up to me to not stay too long after the carcass has been eaten.