It’s too hard to write here. It’s like writing a horrible sad diary entry and then sending it to all of my friends. I would never do that. Yet, here I am. I have no where else to write. This is my space. I have to continue my story. This is not the time to start fresh.
So I will try to write. I will invoke the essences of playfulness and of courage. and I will hope that by admitting to the hardness and shame of this, I might be slightly empowered over the fear.
(And logistically, I will invoke the essence of patient persistence because the spacebar on this keyboard is busted and o my god, I might kill it.)
But really, Fear.
Isn’t everything we do in our lives guided by fear? What if we could have no fear? What if we could be fearless?
If I were to be fearless, there would be nothing that I would be afraid to lose. I try to do that always. I give away my own dignity so that I can’t lose it. I buy cheap stuff and I purposely avoid sentimental attachments. I pretty much operate under the assumption that any day now my home will burn down (or tornado, or flood, or godzilla) and there cannot be anything I should miss. But people…people are tricky these days.
It used to be easier for me to keep my personal attachments distant. To create relationships where I would remind myself that people will randomly die or leave my life and I was pretty good at not mourning their departure much. I was like teflon. I couldn’t let anything stick. But you know how a teflon pan is only tough until it gets a bunch of scratches and then it’s actually more useless than a regular pan? Sucks to be teflon…
I really love my kids.
I love my kids so much, I would save my own life for them. (I know- it’s fucked up)
I really love olives. Not as much as my kids- they really really love olives! But I digress.
I had never eaten an olive until six years ago. Now I feel like I have to eat buckets of olives just to make up for all those years of my life that I missed out on knowing the joy of an olive. But oops. I got caught up in the joy of eating olives, that I forgot that when the olive famine hits and there are no more olives ever, I’ll actually be pretty sad. I should start cutting back on enjoying my olives now. I need to prepare myself for when they disappear by not having them now.
This love that I’m feeling…it’s like the olives. I didn’t know how much I was missing until I tasted the real thing. And not just for my kids, though it started there, love for my husband, my friends, my mother-in-law… I feel love for my life.
This love feels great, but it also feels terrifying.
What do I do with this feeling of loving people so much that you are terrified of losing them? How do you not let this terror consume you? How can you enjoy a life knowing that any moment it can and will get pulled away.
I had a few weeks?months? of feeling really great. I was really starting to feel like a great combo of my old old self and my new self. My husband became my best friend again. My daughter stopped being so shy. My son was feeling secure. We were all thriving. We even bought a friggin house!
But we kept adjusting my meds and now I’m just so anxious, I have so much rage it is seeping out. I’m snapping at my kids, at my husband, I can’t take care of them, I’m so angry at myself and feeling so useless. I just want to crawl under my bed and stay there. (note: under the bed, not in it.)
I’ve done this before. I’ve hibernated and held my breath and pushed off everyone until the meds kicked in. But this time, I know how good the olives taste and I’ve been gorging on them. If I stopped eating today, I would be too sad and there would be too many olives and it would make a big mess for everyone else.
Part of me knows that if I had never let myself enjoy so many olives in the first place, people wouldn’t be so dependent on me eating my portion now. But the joy of that sweet sweet love and joy was just too good to wish away.
This pain is painful but that sweetness was wonderful. I think it was worth enjoying it. Why not? Isn’t that what we are here for?
I will just keep working hard so that I can get there again one day. To feel that love and joy and bring it back into my family.
I know exactly what I’m missing and I know the love that I am pushing away when I am short tempered and mean. I hate seeing their faces when they approach me with hesitation not knowing if I’m a hungry lion or a cuddly cub. I don’t want to be that mother. I don’t want to be that wife.
I can’t stand the fear in their eyes and I know that I am causing it.
I hate myself for being this way.