It is a weird place to be when you feel so many emotions, and nothing, at the same time. Mental illness is a terrible and beautiful thing. I struggle with a myriad of issues. The largest being the crippling anxiety of leaving my house. It is hard to explain to people because I leave my house when needed.
I am a master masker. I am outgoing, personable, approachable, and an otherwise decent socializer. But it is torture some days. I feel the weight of trying to be cordial and friendly to people. I suffer the sickening feeling of adrenaline pumping on and off the entire time I am outside of my house. I really just want to be left alone in my bubble.
I hold a guilt at feeling these awful feelings. Like, how could I possibly be suffering when I have everything. I have an excellent career. I have a husband who loves and supports me in everything. I have friends far and wide. I have a roof over my head, food on my table. My bills are paid. We socialize when we can. We stay at home when we can’t. Everything.
I have happiness and my cup is full.
Yet I woke up today and just wanted to cry. I was startled awake at about four a.m. with police lights and sirens flashing and whooping. Whatever was going on was going on in the parking lot of the grocery story behind our house. But my heart was racing, my body tensed, and there was nothing but fear. Panic that the sirens were for our house. That Benjamin had been killed. Or that I had been shot and couldn’t move. It was so terrifying and surreal. I was conscious and awake, but felt paralyzed. I then heard Ben snoring, and his typical smack noise that wakes me when he grinds his teeth. I touch him, and the noise stops. He’s warm and still sleeping. But now I am awake for the day.
I pull up my phone and flip through facebook. Then look to see if people have written their side of the stories we are writing together. I roll over and pet the cat, and try to doze, no luck. So I cried. It has only left me feeling worse. I didn’t want to get up to work today. But am stuck on PTO due to the days I took for the drive-by. I know it’s normal. And that I should be having these emotions. But I feel like I’m stronger than this, and that I should be able to weather this storm better.
I don’t want to be afraid of everything. I don’t want to look at my front door and see a portal to a terrifying, horrific hell. I will pick a fight about something utterly stupid to drive Ben to not having me leave with him. He knows this, and works around it. But then I feel like a monster because it just…happens. Like what is wrong with me that I just can’t go out the door and do the things? I ask it all the time. I work myself into a tizzy when I think about talking to people about it.
Like, I don’t want everyone to see the broken person. Damaged in ways that make me wonder how people tolerate me. Because I worry about everyone and everything at the same time. I want to know their problems and solve them. I want to laugh with them. Cry with them. I want to be the person who makes them smile and find it a bit easier to breathe. I want to be all these things and more. Even as I read this entry I see the insanity of my brain.
My doctor and I have been talking about these feelings. She understands my harsh resistance to taking medication. I already take a lot of medication and that truly complicates things. One slight adjustment and I’m sick for days. Or my blood sugar spikes hard enough I’m just sleeping all the time. Which leads into the vicious circle of losing weight to get the hormones in control. Because hormones also factor into this feeling. It’s that time of the month.
I still cycle because I have ovaries. I bloat. I cramp. It’s awful. So then I have to remind myself to exhale. That’s why it’s all amplified right now. But it’s hard. So very hard to not just emotionally dump on Ben, or friends. He knows I don’t feel good. We talk, and he is ever calm and steady. It’s amazing how talking with him brings me back down from wherever I was heading. He holds me and soothes me. And it kills me that I know he needs that too, and sometimes I just can’t give it to him.
I have found writing has helped with a lot of this. The escape of falling into a different reality. Being everything and anything is amazing. There is something uplifting about watching people I write with get invested in their characters. Seeing how they look for my response, and they plot/plan whatever devious things we intend to do to those characters. Seeing pieces of the players in their characters. It’s like magic the way it transforms people.
So I supposed I have to end this with the realization that the everything comes with the nothing. Today is a bad day, but it will pass, and tomorrow I’ll be back to my bubbly self. Or won’t. But there will be a tomorrow to deal with.