there is no one to turn to. no one can help me.
still, i’m begging for help.
Pain. Pain I can’t begin to describe.
Loneliness. Loneliness that sucks the very life out of me.
I’m trapped in my own home and my own head and isolated from everyone and sometimes that’s a good thing but mostly it’s terrible.
I love and I care and I do my best never to make anyone feel hurt or left out, but I’m replaceable. Always. Everyone replaces me easily, or would if they could.
When this horribleness cycles around again (and there is no rhyme or reason to it–it’s a living, breathing monster and does what it pleases) everything is magnified to crushing proportions and life is just too hard. Again. And thoughts that hadn’t come to visit in a while once again start pounding on the door of my mind. “No one cares about you. You’re a nuisance. You’re weird. You’re strange. You’re unwanted. Your husband would be happier with someone else. Your kids obviously love other people far more than they love you–you aren’t needed anymore. Just go. Leave everyone alone and end your own pain. Just do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. DO IT….” And Death, as a comforting friend, holds out his hand, ready to take mine because no one else is.
I’m angry. I want to break things and scream. I find it too easy to lash out at those I love the most, and that causes two things 1. regret from me, and 2. even more misunderstanding and judgment towards me. No one understands, nor do they try to understand. They only think I’m terrible and overreacting and hateful and whatever else they think–they can’t see that I’m shattering into a million pieces because they don’t even try.
I can’t pray during these times. Just can’t. Because God sees how ugly I am and He judges me. He tells me I should just snap out of it and trust him and everything will be okay but he says it with a scowl on his face…. And he’s tired of me, too.
No one ever notices. Not really. And if they do, they don’t care. While everyone else is living life, a real life, I’m imprisoned right here, alone, unseen. Just thinking of this makes me so angry. What’s so wrong with me? Why can’t anyone be a real friend to me? I think I could make a good friend to someone. God knows I’ve tried. I have so much love to give but it’s always thrown back into my face. Not even my love is good enough.
No one hears me screaming. No one sees me drowning. Or maybe they do. Maybe they see and hear me and know how desperate I am, and they just don’t care.
And why should I care.
Until today, I felt pretty good. Really good, actually. I can’t say that much has changed, but I think we’ve all felt more upbeat. Less stressed. And I was so thankful! But today? Today I felt that familiar pressure: nerves on edge, teeth on edge, stomach in a knot, smothering darkness reaching out for me….
And I don’t know why.
I think that might be the most frustrating thing. If I knew why, I could prepare. I could fight it. I’d be able to beat it, maybe. But when it blindsides me and I can’t for the life of me understand where it came from or why I feel the way I feel and I don’t know what I can do to make it better, how can I win? So I barked at the kids, probably sounded like a witch, accomplished next to nothing all day, and huddled in my “corner” trying to keep depression and anxiety from completely overtaking me.
Tonight, I took my “emergency pill”. That’s what the psychiatrist called it. I didn’t even bother with half a pill–I downed the whole thing, hoping beyond hope that it would shake this monster off of my back before it totally defeated me.
Now I’m more relaxed and I’m very, very sleepy, but I still sense it. It’s like someone flipped the switch again and the only light left in the room is slowly fading.
Is it because I got bad news about another family member? Is it because I’ve been so disappointed in myself? (But that’s nothing new….) Is it because I feel stupid, forgotten, pushed away, unloved, unlovable, stupid, and like a total and complete failure–again? Is it because I’m premenstrual? (Please, no. That sounds so clichéd; I don’t care how true it might be.)
I might wake up and be fine in the morning. I hope and pray that I am, and not just for my sake. I don’t want the sadness and depression to affect my entire home again. But every time I feel this way I get scared to death, and I want to scream for help–but the few who would understand…why would they want to hear it again? Doesn’t it get really old? I know it does for me.
So I pray. Because God sees me, and He knows. And I pour my heart out here, as well as to Him, though words aren’t as easy to come by when I speak to Him.
So, God? Help me, please. Please. I don’t want to do this again. If it’s something I did, if it’s my fault, please, please show me so I can fix it and never do it again. Please.
It’s been a rollercoaster. I feel so hopeful and I know I can start accomplishing things I’ve only planned and stressed over, only to wind up physically and emotionally unable to do much of anything.
I’m tired of being tired.
Yesterday was a really, really good day. Today looked like it would be, too, but it wasn’t. I spent most of the day in bed, defeated and asking God to forgive me for failing again. I need to try harder–push through how I feel. This is my fault, because I don’t try hard enough. I’m always asking Him to forgive me. Most of my prayers are pleas for forgiveness.
I know I have excuses. Physically and mentally, I’ve fallen apart. I can’t remember the last time I felt well. But I feel life zipping past me like mile markers on a freeway and I panic because this is the only life I’ll ever have. I only get one shot at this. I’m always waiting. Waiting to feel better, waiting to be stronger, waiting for finances to be better, waiting….. I don’t want to wait any more.
I was going to try to get more sleep tonight, but here I am, awake at an unearthly hour, dreading sleep because it will bring tomorrow. Still, I feel that hope inside me that tomorrow will be different.
So I hope and despair and hope and despair and hope and fall and get up and fall and get up….
It doesn’t matter, though, because no matter what, I’m not quitting. I’m sending up another “God, please forgive me; please help me….” and I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, I just might get closer to reaching some goals.
Nearly three months!? Really? I didn’t realize it had been so long since I “spilled” here. They’ve been interesting months packed full of both not-so-great things, such as new developments with my health, including surgery and the interesting little discovery of a life-threatening allergy, and good things, like a temporary improvement in finances that allowed us to breathe through the holidays, which were wonderful, and thank God for that. We all needed it.
Now, it’s back to crunch time. School, work, more medical tests, more work, financial worries pounding on the door and buzzing the phone with maddening consistency…. I’m overwhelmed again. So overwhelmed. But, just like always, I’ll be okay. I feel like I’ve received new inspiration–new hope. I’m grabbing onto that, and I’m going to run with it.
Or walk. Yeah, I’ll just walk with it. Slowly. A little at a time, so I don’t send myself into shock or anything.
Time hurtles past with ever increasing speed (you can’t tell me that it isn’t so) and I feel more and more the pressure of getting it right–getting something right. So I embrace the fresh start of a new year, and celebrate the death of the old one. It wasn’t a kind year, and I was happy to see it go, but it was profitable in the ways that count: my faith grew, and I fell even more in love with my family, my gifts. God gives such good gifts.
Anxiety and depression are still my ever present companions, and I hate them as much as I ever did, but I’m coping, and on some days, I can almost forget they’re there. Like maybe they took a short vacation. I love those days.
I forgot how much it helped to type my thoughts out here. I feel more relaxed than before I began tapping away, and I think I might even be able to go to sleep.
To the two of you who take the time to read my ramblings and bother to take a peek into my pitiful little thoughts, thank you, God bless you, and may the very best be yours in the new year.
Let’s do this.
I’ll get more test results tomorrow morning and I’m so anxious about it that I can’t sleep. I alternate between panicking and feeling idiotic, and I keep telling myself to quit worrying, but I’m still worrying.
I have felt so strange for the past few days. I can’t seem to put my finger on it, but it’s bothering me to no end! Emptiness, loneliness, a general feeling of being “out if it”, deep sadness–and it’s not really what I felt before. So weird.
It’s at times like this when I feel alone. I want someone to love me enough to worry about me. But that’s narcissistic, right? So I tell myself that and try to focus on anything and anyone but myself. But the worry and loneliness pulls me back in and I just want a parent of my own to be scared for me. To call me and check on me and tell me it will be okay. To come over and sit with me. To just be with me. To love me.
Pathetic, isn’t it? But there it is.
My husband is preoccupied with the other crises that are happening in our lives right now, and I’m trying not to biane him for that. I’m worried about those things too.
I know it’s all crazy, and everything will be fine, and I need to buck up and remind myself of what I said in my last post…..
But it’s dark and it’s night and I’m awake and I can’t stop thinking the worst and I feel disconnected from everything and everyone….
I went back to the family doc this week, and my husband went with me. I wanted him to be there so he could remember what was said because I knew I wouldn’t. The doctor asked if I was doing better–if the medicines were helping. I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. Yes, I’m better and yes, the medicines are working, but I’m still fighting some depression and anxiety. Is that normal? I know I said that it was okay if this is as good as it gets, but is it really? Last night I felt overwhelming sadness and emptiness, and there really wasn’t a good reason for it. I’m stressed about a lot of things, but I have no reason to be this sad. My anxiety level is still far too high. I hate feeling like this. While those thoughts whipped through my brain and I tried to figure out how to answer honestly, my husband spoke up. “Yes!” he said, emphatically. I could have smacked him, or at the very least I could have shot him a dirty look. Sure I’m much better outwardly, but I’m still dealing with the same problems inwardly, albeit on a smaller scale. He can’t feel my frustration, nor can he know what my thoughts are, so how can he answer for me? I was afraid that I looked ignorant, or that the doctor would think I was overreacting. I muttered something in explanation and hoped I didn’t look as dumb as I felt. Really though, my guy has been through a lot with me and I’m sure that my outward improvements appear monumental to him. (Cut him some slack, Chloe!) Oh, well. On with the rest of the visit.
Finally, a doctor is looking at my symptoms and wants to find out what’s going on. (Thank God). Tests have already been done and there are more to come. Docs words: “We’re going to turn you inside out before we’re finished with you.” Sounds painful. *gulp* I don’t want this, but I want this. I want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t want to know because I’m scared, especially after a new symptom came up and the doctor asked if anyone in my family has cancer. “Yes.” Of course, my mind jumped to the worst possible outcome and I pictured my children at my funeral and my heart started to break and I knew I needed to get everything done for them that I could before I died and I wondered how I could stand to leave them and….. STOP. I laughed at my ridiculous self, reigned in my anxiety-riddled mind, and assured said self that my problem is most definitely something simple. Or maybe it’s nothing at all, and I’ll feel like an idiot for even bringing it up. And so I wish for something that’s easily fixed and not serious, but definitely for something, so I don’t feel stupid. (Is that stupid?)
It seems like we can’t catch a break, and I feel sorry for us. I wonder why we can’t have it easy or at least not quite so hard for just a little while…. Then I watch the news and I see the beautiful, smiling face of the 6-year-old little boy who was shot on the playground of his school in South Carolina, and my heart squeezes as I look at my own child and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that he’s alive and healthy and driving everyone crazy. I watch as a monster storm swallows up Haiti and spits out every pitiful thing that belonged to people who have suffered far too much already, and I’m ashamed that I ever complained about anything.
God owes me nothing, and yet I’m blessed with so much! I battle selfishness and self pity, and I wish we could just breathe already, but really, we’re okay. I’ve learned more in the past few months about trusting God than I have in my entire life, I think. I feel like I’m finally grasping it a little. So, I thank him for my blessings, tell him what he already knows: that I need his help right now because there is nothing else I can do, and I place my worries in his hands and leave them there. But I’m weak and human, and I fail and snatch my worries back because, after all, they’re mine and I need to fix them. And then I remember that I can’t, so I put them back–and then I get weak again and…. It’s a vicious cycle, and we all do it. Well, maybe not all, but 99.9% of us do it. Maybe someday I’ll mature in my faith enough to stop. It’s a goal.
“So, God? Thank you for everything. That sounds pretty pathetic, but I do mean it. You know about this other stuff: my messed up mind, my messed up body, my messed up life…and you can fix it if you want to. Or you can help me to trust you whether you fix it or not. Oh, and when these tests are all done and the verdict comes back that I’m fine and it’s all in my head, don’t let my husband rub it in, okay? Thanks.”