FB Status: I feel overwhelmed. And reality is crowding my think space.
I feel so sad and lonely tonight, and there’s no one I want to talk to. I eat white cherries and breathe through my mouth because the tension is too much. Garth Brooks’ “One Night a Day.” Exactly. I miss Fantasia. Zoe doesn’t cuddle. She just looks at me confused when I cry… then licks her butt.
A friend asked today (rightly so) why I’m not blogging. Deep breath. Sometimes it’s too much. I wrote something a few days ago but didn’t have the energy to type it. I haven’t been writing much at all. I’ve been sick.
I had a few better weeks but I’m back to headaches, weakness, dizziness, trouble breathing, exhaustion, zapping (now accompanied by louder vocalizations). Sometimes I’d like to write but holding a pen is too much energy. Other times there is just nothing on my mind.
I know it is my body’s resting/recovery state but I spend a lot of time dissociated, in my own world. I can’t control it. It’s not always bad. I’m just not here. I don’t know what day or time or season or month or year it is, or where I’m supposed to be, or why I am where I am. I go places and do things but I don’t experience them, and if I do I often don’t remember. I really should find someone who can figure out what’s wrong with me, but I don’t have the energy or I forget.
Another reason I don’t write is because I can’t handle what I have to say. I’m not ready for it to be real or it isn’t something I think would be worth sharing.
I have a lot of people in my life and the only person I share with is my therapist. No one knows what’s going on, and no one asks. I got a call from a friend last night and when I hung up I wondered. When I talk to people, what is it that I talk about? What do they hear?
I know when I talk with certain people there are specific things they talk about. The topics don’t change. But what are my topics? I don’t often share back. And I hate not having somebody to talk to that listens. I’m grateful to have had a friend to listen earlier tonight.
I haven’t been blogging about the crazy stress in my life. I am approaching disaster and there is nothing I can do about it. There is drama at the group I am trying to avoid. And more than I can handle at home.
M- said I can’t tell but I can’t hide her secret. It’s eating me alive. And it’s not really a secret. She’s still on workman’s comp for her arm that’s not healed and they stopped paying her. So she’s fighting it. (I don’t know why that’s a secret.) But, consequently, we have enough money for rent and that’s it. It’s not like there’s any slack or cushion. And I’m broke. I took out another card but it makes me wanna vomit.
The level of stress feels like poison in my body. I want to purge, to vomit or sweat it out or to break myself. To make it not hurt. But I can’t. So I listen to music. And pray.
Today we had a fight. Somehow we got on the topic of life insurance. And I said I would be shit out of luck if she died. She said no that I’d have money from the insurance and continue to live here. I pointed out that that would not be possible and why. She got all upset and said she’s sorry she can’t buy me a house to live in after she dies. I said I don’t want a house. Why would I want a house? I said, “I’d like to live in a condo in a high-rise with a maid and a doorman and an elevator.” That sentence felt good. And then she said it. “Ha! Right. Like that’s gonna happen.” (pause) I went outside.
Reality’s a bitch. I know what mine is but don’t throw it in my face. If I want to dream about living the good life, let me. I don’t do it often. It feels good. Even though I know it’s just a dream.
I was nominated member of the month today on a website I’m a part of and they sent me a list of questions to answer. One of them is what is my ultimate goal in life. (sigh) Really? To be happy. To not feel like this. To not be sick.
I want more than anything (at least in this moment) to be able to do whatever I can think up. To be “normal” and have a career and a relationship, a home, a car, some kids, and money. I don’t want to be here, dancing with illness and not dancing, trying to make it through the day. Filling my schedule with stuff. Padding the time. Eating hot dogs. Getting texts from the internet. I don’t want to be stalled anymore. I am withering.
I need to find meaning & purpose.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010