I apologize in advance, this is going to be a rambling blog. I'm not sure where it's going, I'm not sure if I should warn you it'll be long or short. I'm not sure how depressed or desperate I may end up sounding in it. But I do know that, as much as I joke about it, I'm not jumping off a bridge anytime soon or anything, so no one panic! And though I'm blah, I'm not nearly as bad as this post may make it seems, so again, no one panic!
Yeah, OK, no shit. I get a pass at that, right? I've been through alot.
But boy, am I sad.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with my life, my peeps, & everything in it. But the things that aren't good...boy, are they shitty. And they make me sad.
Now, I have a psychology degree. I have psychology syndrome...I read it, therefore I have it. I still remember a professor telling us, as we looked through our DSM, that "you'll think you have all of this...but you don't!" That was good enough for me to keep denying my crazy! So I always take those things with a grain of salt, like I know I'm sad & I worry alot, but that's normal. We're all sad. We all worry. I just had a baby, I'm hormonal. It happens.
But at what point is it a problem? At what point am I abnormal? The term normal is pretty subjective, but what exactly makes abnormal?
I'm sad. I make sure to make that word funny looking because just typing sad doesn't cut it. And, again, that's pretty damn normal from what I've been through.
I worry that my kids will get kidnapped. Like, not just a little worry like every parent has. I have complete stories in my head about how it'd go gone. I hate leaving my house for more than a few hours because I'm scared it will catch fire, I can see my pets dying in the fire, burning to death. Shit, I can't even wash laundry without checking everything well, just in case a cat is in it. I picture cats dying in my washer. I turn the oven on & I picture something being in there dying. Even when I check, I imagine opening it after it's pre-heated & finding something dead. I think about people breaking into my house & killing me in front of my kids or hurting them. I worry.
I know all of this is irrational. Really, I do. But shit, it scares me. Sometimes I worry until I get a headache. I worry until my chest hurts. I worry.
I'm sad. I'm sad over so much. I'm sad that my husbands family sucks. I'm sad about things with my own family. I'm sad that I'm not allowed to be sad. I'm sad that my son is dead. I'm sad that I feel like a failure at times & I'm not even sure why. I'm sad that I can't make everything work out how I want it to. I'm sad. I'm sad that I worry. Then I worry because I'm sad.
It's an evil cycle.
I convince myself that I should do this or that. Then, in the middle of it, I don't care anymore. I don't want to deal with it, I don't want to do any part of it. Depending on what it is, I get too worried to go through with it. Again, some of this is normal. But, again, how much is normal? And is this really me or am I convincing myself something is wrong because I know the signs of things more than random people off the street do? Or maybe I'm worse off than I even realize because despite my knowledge of things, have I ignored & avoided all the signs for so long that now it's so bad that I can't help but to see it all in front of me?
I've always had, uh, issues. I use to have an issue with numbers. I'd count every & any thing. If the count of, for example, words wasn't a number I liked I'd sit & restructure it to hit a number of words I liked. Not just my words...written words, other peoples words, lines in movies. There was really no limit. I've gotten better over the years, I don't do that anymore.
Now I just worry about my cats catching on fire or my kids having something terrible happen to them. How vivid or in detail are those thoughts? So vivid & detailed that it's disturbing to me, that I can see it happening. I make myself stop & go on with life, I can control it well like that. But is it normal to even think these things?
Basically, I've always been crazy. But when does crazy turn into crazy? And is this as good as it gets?
Sad thing (just sad, not sad) is that really I just fell like "well shit, I'm crazy, that makes sense, I'm going to quit everything & just accept that I'm a crazy person! Yay, crazy!"
I really just don't know what to do with myself. And I don't really care. I just don't want to have to do it. Does that make sense? I mean of course I want to take care of my family & spend time with them...but much past that? Nope, not at all. I feel like I'm lazy, that's all that rings in my head. I can't believe how lazy I am. I was always told I was a lazy kid. Seriously. I was a chubby kid who was too lazy to exercise. I got bad grades because I was too lazy to do homework. But I wasn't. I was so sad back then. I didn't give a fuck. I wanted my life to end at some points because things were just so bad. I don't even think like that now, but the lazy remains. But I wonder now, is the word lazy just a shitty label I was given? Maybe I should have received some sort of help back then. Maybe I'm ruined because I didn't. Maybe I would have been happier if I hadn't just been labeled lazy. Maybe I wouldn't be sitting here now, in shock of how lazy I continue to be when I'm not actually lazy but just depressed instead. Maybe I can't be helped. Even if I can, it's sad to think I've wasted 30 years of my life being sad.
I think Joel's death just gave me something to grasp onto for the sadness. Finally, I have a reason. Maybe because of that it continues to hit me as hard as the day we found out he died. I could say all of this impairs my daily functioning, but truthfully I've never functioned without something going on. I have no idea what it's like to not have some sort of impaired function, I've adapted to live with it. I hate to admit I'm too sad to function like I think I could if I wasn't. It's a shameful thing to admit almost. Of course I think that goes back to my fear of the lazy label. I don't want to say, "Hey honey, I want to drop out of school & never leave the house because I'm sad." Things like that are usually met with a pep talk & dismissed as me being tired or frustrated. Which they are, in part. But the big part is that I cannot convince myself I need to do it. Well, I know I need to do it. But I cannot gather the effort needed to do anything. And that, it seems, makes me lazy. And that shame & embarrassment comes back. It's bad enough knowing your parents think you're a failure and/or lazy, you don't want people you love to think the same. I feel bad enough about myself & things I've done or not done, I don't need people to join in.
I want to be OK more than anything. But, truth is...
Just admitting this makes me worry. And it freaks me out because now, even though I'm thinking it's time to do something about it, I figure if I decide not to people will stay on my ass about doing something to help myself. But I fear help isn't going to, well, help. And my insurance believes that only 20 appointments of help will be more than enough, so after that point guess whose got to foot the bill? And that just bring more sadness & worry.
I really don't know what I should do...what I should want. I'm not even sure what more I should say. Maybe I'm just lazy or worthless. Or maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe I'm beyond help. I just wish I knew for sure.
I'll be OK. I just have to figure out how to get there. And whatever I decide to do to get myself on the best track I can, hopefully people can accept & not judge. People including me.