Tag Archive | confusion

Nothing Feels Right

Feeling like Goldilocks, except I went to the wrong house, no baby bear here, and everything is too hot or too cold, or too hard or too soft. Nothing is just right.

I keep soul searching for reasons. Is this depression? Do I need meds? Am I sleeping? Is there a singular cause or many? Is there no cause at all? Is this a natural cycle of who I am? Are there extra stressors in my life? Why do I always come back to this? Is there something really wrong with me or is this just me and I need to accept it? Do I need to try harder to make changes or go with the flow here?

Are they irritating or am I irritable?

What do I want?

I want to withdraw completely from the world. I want everyone to leave me alone. I don’t want to make any decisions. I don’t want to listen to anyone. I don’t want to be in charge. of anything. Maybe I want a chance to be the child I never was. Will this always haunt me? Will I ever feel grown up?

I have found some relief through watching TV alone in my room. I turn out the lights and escape into the TV fantasy world. I am aware my kids are roaming the house and I respond if needed, but mostly they are fine this way. Better than fine actually, because I’m not asking them to do the daily chores. It takes too much energy and patience to monitor them these days.

I am still exercising 30-60 minutes daily. It is a habit now and something I look forward to. When that wii fit timer dances after 30 minutes, I feel proud of myself for doing something right.

I am still working every day, and didn’t even have that urge to call off work today like I did all of last week. I am grateful for that, grateful one part of my day does not require the inner battle of will.

Despite my best efforts to be grateful and think positive – I feel like a dark foul stench. And I don’t even care. I want to own this ugliness and accept it as part of me. Maybe it is time to look directly at it, sit in it, and get comfy instead of perpetually trying to squash it and battle and change my thoughts.

I am just so weary of doing the same things every day here. Once in a while I feel like Sisyphus and wonder what the point of my life actually could be. I am so sick of washing the same dishes, same laundry, same dust bunnies. I do not look forward to 50 more years of this.

I am so ashamed to admit how many of my thoughts lately actually wish for a terminal illness for myself. See, this isn’t quite the same as suicidal thoughts, but pretty close I guess. I would never take myself away from my family, I know now that I am loved and important to them. I will do everything in my power to give my children every chance at an amazing life. But, there remains a part of me that doesn’t want my own life. I have played out entire fantasies in my mind of me fighting cancer and dying as a brave hero, remembered as this amazing person my kids could be proud of. See I want out. I always want out. Even on the good days, even when I feel happy, loved, or joyful, there is always this part at the back of my thoughts that say it isn’t good enough, no point, too hard, too much pain, why am I here, why am I doomed to be alive? (sorry hubby, I know this hurts to read, but I realized I have been sugar coating my reality for you in this blog. I need this blog to be real, since it is the only place, here and therapy, that I am allowed to be me)

Sometimes I wish I had no children, less responsibility, maybe a trust fund and a house full of waitstaff to cook and clean and manage the tedious tasks. I would fill my time volunteering, traveling, and getting multiple PhDs, maybe giving speeches about my latest research.

Sometimes I wonder if we are born with this innate wish to survive and love life, that I do see in my own kids and even in hubby. Sometimes I wonder if my father took that away from me at so young an age that I simply can’t get it back. I can pretend for a while, but it always slips away. It just isn’t in me. My first suicide attempt I was in 5th grade. The age my daughter is now. I sure hope the thought has never crossed her mind.

Sometimes I wish I was born in a different era, where things were simpler and slower. where I didn’t have nosy neighbors. where my kids didn’t expect expensive electronics and classes and teams. Where I could get on my horse and ride as long as I wanted. (in my fantasy I don’t have a bad back and would be strong and pain free)

Sometimes I wish I had schizophrenia like my brother, so I could be left alone and no one would tell me to try this or that. Everyone accepts who he is and doesn’t try to heal him. They applaud him for his good days. They don’t pressure him to fit in. No one expects him to be social. I want out of my expectations to be ‘normal’. I want to stop trying to be normal for everyone and have them accept that I am not, without all of the guilt if I do excuse myself from a social situation.

Sometimes I think about my future with so much dread I actually cry. My pain is so high now, my energy is so low now, and I am still relatively young. How much will I endure when I am older? Can’t think about that too long, or hope slips away.

Sometimes I wish I was born an animal or an insect, or a flower. Free from these thoughts and just live the life I was meant to live without questioning it.

So I start my regimen of positive thinking, silencing those thoughts, finding something to enjoy or distract myself, enlist help from supportive people in my life, and keep going. I make plans to keep myself busy. I look around for ways to make changes in my environment, thinking it may help if I try something new. But those are only temporary bandaids, and always, I return to this dark place of wishing I could be released from my life. I have no plans to end it, being very clear on this, I am not in crisis. Some where I have this hope for things to be better, but I don’t always believe in it. Like I am waiting for it patiently, trying to make life better, not giving up, changing what I can. Being a good girl – always.

I’m so tired of explaining this to hubby and in laws over and over again. Tired of hiding it from everyone else. They want me to be ok, it is so easy to overlook my unspoken thoughts. And I’m tired of hurting people when I do speak them. I am full of hurtful thoughts, nearly constantly.

This is me. Nothing feels right, but I guess this is as good as it gets. I will try to be grateful and find moments of joy in what really feels like a Bill Murray Groundhog day life.  (so many people loved that movie – I hated it!) Because I do find moments of joy, and sometimes the happiness slips in to fill the void. I just never know if I should simply wait, or if I need to be actively changing and trying to get back to it.

Ever Feel Like Your Native Language is Foreign

 

Usually I completed take my freely flowing words for granted. I assume the words will come out and make sense and make points without me forcing them. But lately I’ve been forcing them. I’ve been struggling to find the right words, pausing between sentences to find the right path, the right connections.

The words are kind of like those floaters in your eyes, you can’t see them if you look right at them. So as soon as I know what to say, see that entire thought, it floats out of my conscio

Montage of languages. Prototype header for the...

I don’t understand myself (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

us so quickly, leaving me with a feeling like I saw it, I can feel it, but can’t see it. A ghost of thoughts and words once there.

I don’t know how I’m feeling emotionally these days. It’s like I’m only feeling things physically.  Unless dizzy is an emotion, because that’s how I feel. Like my feelings won’t sit still long enough for me to actually feel them, and I’m left with a dizzy confusion. This dizziness blocks my words.

I stumbled my way through dozens of emails for work, through many reports and spreadsheets, but I have no words left of my own. I’m tired and drained from writing and reading, and re-reading my words full of so many errors and typos and usage errors, and even rhyming words in place of what I meant. My internal editor must be on vacation.

Or perhaps I lost my babel fish. Don’t panic, I still have my towel.