Laboring Day
Anybody that tells me that August does nothing but completely fucking blow...is a goddamned liar.
It's hot, it's sweaty and there are no holidays.
Alright, it's birthstone is Peridot, and that's pretty cool. I'll give you that...but that's it.
The last six weeks have been hell. I feel terrible. I feel like I look terrible and I am struggling to understand the trajectory of my life. Although I have strategically and tirelessly worked to make my financial situation better, and I have created a plan to freedom, the pivotal and redemptive moment where I bust through the tape and cross the finish line is a long way off. Like, for real.
I thought, for sure, that I would find solace in Labor Day: the unofficial end to summer, the end of August and the beginning of all things orange, yellow, brown and pumpkin spice. But, the burden of August has become the burden of September, too. Every week in therapy I have expressed that I am sad, I am crying, I am irrationally feeling things that I haven't felt in years. I am feeling stretched very thin by work, my living situation, my relationships with people and my lack of a serious support system for when these kind of depressive episodes happen. I felt the helplessness that I felt at the height of my emotional unbalance: knowing that I am feeling almost out of control, but knowing that no one will be able to support me through a time where I could completely commit to my mental health, so I keep moving and I keep striving to make it, "work." This time, though, I do not foresee the split decision to drive myself to the hospital to save my life. I don't foresee that level of loss of control, and that makes me unendingly proud of myself and the four years of work that I have done. Still though, it seems so odd that I would return to this place after such a long period of time of being, dare I say, happy?
I was going to talk about feeling like I had never been in a situation where I felt like I was fully accepted by the people in my life, especially those that were slated as the, "closest," but Judy stopped me in my tracks, mid sentence, and asked me, "Do you think that what you are feeling is a representation of being uncomfortable in this different body?" She elaborated that now that weight wasn't the complete burden, that I had to actually start to deal with the emotional shield that hid behind the physical? That now it was about feeling what you are as a person, instead of the manifestation of the implications of having a larger body?
Well fuck.
I don't want to do that, JUDY, I want to tell you that I am sad because no one ever fully understood me. Like every Gothy teenager in the world. I want to tell you that I am completely alone as the result of everyone else never taking the time to get to know me...and that it was completely their fault. I don't want to think about the possibility that my inability to create close relationships could in fact be my own fucking problem.
She asked me if I thought that the reason that I didn't get close to people was because I didn't want to be vulnerable.
Well duh.
Then she elaborated and said that when you're not vulnerable to letting people really see you, you're not going to find the people that would be the support system that would get me through these really depressive episodes. She said that maybe what I was feeling was the absolute sadness of complete isolation from lack of close partnerships and relationships.
Ugh.
A few things about that:
1. Every time that I have allowed people to get even slightly close to me, they have fucked it up. My parents, my exboyfriends, my exhusband, former friends...they have all displayed that they either can't or won't handle me at my worst, but LOVE me at my best and think that I am totally awesome and funny and smart and cool and weird and sweet and giving and loving. But when I am not feeling like those things...they are gone in both physical and emotional ways.
I expressed to Mike right after he and I started seeing each other that eventually he would become a great version of himself at my hand and with my support (codependent say what?)...and that when that happens, he will decide that dealing with the worst of me wasn't worth it. He swears no. We'll see.
I have been conditioned to know that when the going gets tough, I stand alone. And yeah, it is no way to live.
There is a cat that lives outside that came to our house on the verge of starving to death. She ate with such voraciousness that it seemed like she would never forget that she wasn't dying. She is so fat now. She has finally started leaving some food in the bowl for later.
2. My logic, brutal honesty and practicality rubs most people the wrong way and makes it hard to get close to people. Most people view it has harsh judgement. And believe me, I spent most of my life being a judgmental turd that sized-up a situation and was a jerk about it before it even happened. But, when I started the process of therapy, I started to unpack the quick baseless judgement, and replaced it with discernment and complete truthful honesty. And I learned that most people don't want either. They want me to put up with their toxic behaviors and unending whining. They want me to praise their shitty choices and lie to them with platitudes when they ask my opinion. They want me to ignore their backstory and their privilege. Most people don't want friends, they want a cheering section.
When I thought about these two things, what Judy was saying, the things that have happened in my life, the things that I couldn't seem to make happen in my life...it was totally unpleasant. It was horrifying. It was sad and painful. It was sludgy and black. And my logical nature immediately said, "Okay, so we know this, Judy. Tell me how do I turn this into action? What is a practical way to change this thing in my life?" And she told me to wait. She told me to sit with what I was feeling and figure out, a little better, what those feelings meant to me. And what it felt like to be in this less-burdensome body that I could no longer use as the shield to my lack of intimacy.
...
While I sit in the bog of eternal stench, I hope that I can keep my toes out, lest I be smelly forever.
It's hot, it's sweaty and there are no holidays.
Alright, it's birthstone is Peridot, and that's pretty cool. I'll give you that...but that's it.
The last six weeks have been hell. I feel terrible. I feel like I look terrible and I am struggling to understand the trajectory of my life. Although I have strategically and tirelessly worked to make my financial situation better, and I have created a plan to freedom, the pivotal and redemptive moment where I bust through the tape and cross the finish line is a long way off. Like, for real.
I thought, for sure, that I would find solace in Labor Day: the unofficial end to summer, the end of August and the beginning of all things orange, yellow, brown and pumpkin spice. But, the burden of August has become the burden of September, too. Every week in therapy I have expressed that I am sad, I am crying, I am irrationally feeling things that I haven't felt in years. I am feeling stretched very thin by work, my living situation, my relationships with people and my lack of a serious support system for when these kind of depressive episodes happen. I felt the helplessness that I felt at the height of my emotional unbalance: knowing that I am feeling almost out of control, but knowing that no one will be able to support me through a time where I could completely commit to my mental health, so I keep moving and I keep striving to make it, "work." This time, though, I do not foresee the split decision to drive myself to the hospital to save my life. I don't foresee that level of loss of control, and that makes me unendingly proud of myself and the four years of work that I have done. Still though, it seems so odd that I would return to this place after such a long period of time of being, dare I say, happy?
Well fuck.
I don't want to do that, JUDY, I want to tell you that I am sad because no one ever fully understood me. Like every Gothy teenager in the world. I want to tell you that I am completely alone as the result of everyone else never taking the time to get to know me...and that it was completely their fault. I don't want to think about the possibility that my inability to create close relationships could in fact be my own fucking problem.
She asked me if I thought that the reason that I didn't get close to people was because I didn't want to be vulnerable.
Well duh.
Then she elaborated and said that when you're not vulnerable to letting people really see you, you're not going to find the people that would be the support system that would get me through these really depressive episodes. She said that maybe what I was feeling was the absolute sadness of complete isolation from lack of close partnerships and relationships.
Ugh.
A few things about that:
1. Every time that I have allowed people to get even slightly close to me, they have fucked it up. My parents, my exboyfriends, my exhusband, former friends...they have all displayed that they either can't or won't handle me at my worst, but LOVE me at my best and think that I am totally awesome and funny and smart and cool and weird and sweet and giving and loving. But when I am not feeling like those things...they are gone in both physical and emotional ways.
I expressed to Mike right after he and I started seeing each other that eventually he would become a great version of himself at my hand and with my support (codependent say what?)...and that when that happens, he will decide that dealing with the worst of me wasn't worth it. He swears no. We'll see.
I have been conditioned to know that when the going gets tough, I stand alone. And yeah, it is no way to live.
There is a cat that lives outside that came to our house on the verge of starving to death. She ate with such voraciousness that it seemed like she would never forget that she wasn't dying. She is so fat now. She has finally started leaving some food in the bowl for later.
2. My logic, brutal honesty and practicality rubs most people the wrong way and makes it hard to get close to people. Most people view it has harsh judgement. And believe me, I spent most of my life being a judgmental turd that sized-up a situation and was a jerk about it before it even happened. But, when I started the process of therapy, I started to unpack the quick baseless judgement, and replaced it with discernment and complete truthful honesty. And I learned that most people don't want either. They want me to put up with their toxic behaviors and unending whining. They want me to praise their shitty choices and lie to them with platitudes when they ask my opinion. They want me to ignore their backstory and their privilege. Most people don't want friends, they want a cheering section.
When I thought about these two things, what Judy was saying, the things that have happened in my life, the things that I couldn't seem to make happen in my life...it was totally unpleasant. It was horrifying. It was sad and painful. It was sludgy and black. And my logical nature immediately said, "Okay, so we know this, Judy. Tell me how do I turn this into action? What is a practical way to change this thing in my life?" And she told me to wait. She told me to sit with what I was feeling and figure out, a little better, what those feelings meant to me. And what it felt like to be in this less-burdensome body that I could no longer use as the shield to my lack of intimacy....
While I sit in the bog of eternal stench, I hope that I can keep my toes out, lest I be smelly forever.
If you want to be open, just decided not to close. Just decide to remain open.
ReplyDeleteSorry! I had to say it because I am as irked, mystified, and motivated by that book as you are.
I love you, my gothy sister!