This morning was not going well.
Last night…. didn’t go well.
I was talking to a friend about my anxiety and she keeps pressing me to see a shrink. I have reached out to six of them. Most of them aren’t taking new clients, or have changed their niche. Four referrals have been from doctors, one I found on my own and one a friend recommended. I hate the idea of talking to a therapist. I hate the idea of “working through trauma” because I don’t feel that that totally applies, but this friend keeps pushing. Hard.
I realize it is because I am leaning on her for a crutch, and it’s a lot. A lot for me to handle, a lot for another person to take on.
I tried to step back a bit from our connection so it wasn’t overwhelming as I knew I was in a really bad spot. I said some things that were on the negative spectrum and she said something to me along the lines of she was frustrated because I seemed to be making backwards progress. That the things I was saying were contradicting each other.
It hurt. A lot.
I have spent the last year working on me. I know my language is an issue. I have been told this by multiple people. I do work on it. I sound like a contradiction because the thoughts in my head are negative and then I correct them and voice those. But sometimes the original version comes out too. It is an endless circle. It is frustrating and exhausting. For me and for her.
When she said that… about my progress, it felt like a slap in the face. It felt like I wasn’t good enough or trying hard enough or working hard enough, or maybe it was true that I am just that difficult to love (I have heard this before). A whole lot of negative stuff came rushing in and it was more than I could handle last night. I started bawling.
I am frustrated with me. With my progress, my results. A friend’s voice came in to tell me “don’t beat up the machine, it is just putting out what you have asked it to.” Negativity. Anger. Frustration.
I actually rolled my window down in traffic today to bitch out a lady who made me slam on my brakes. Negativity. Anger. Frustration.
The loneliest place isn’t any place external. It is the space between your thought and feeling. It is in the endless circling of emotion that you feel like you can’t control. It is the knowledge that you are at the bottom of a wave and it’s the size of a fucking tsunami.
Today I feel like I am in a really deep pit. The light at the top is a pin prick. I start to climb the side and get side swiped by something. I fall. Maybe a little, maybe a lot.
Every time a negative thought comes in I correct it. Even in the midst of a meltdown I can be aware enough to say “I love this part of me too.” But… the feeling doesn’t come. So I repeat the process… again and again and again. That is the loneliest place. The moment of waiting when a thought is changed to something better and the heart picks it up… And when the heart doesn’t… it’s pure nothingness.
I have expanded my capacity for pain so much in my life. I know that also expands my capacity for joy, but those muscles are so atrophied that the little moments that bring others tranquility are a drop in an ever increasing bucket. If I am ever able to get myself shifted it will be euphoric, if… if…. if….. I just don’t know right now.
I thought that I was changing the pattern of depression and abuse in my family. Right now, I am not so sure. I am afraid to reach out, because I know I need a lot right now. I am afraid to say too much because I know my words still don’t serve me. I am afraid to just be how I am right now, because people expect (and I expect) something better. That comment about my progress going backwards… I know it was meant to inspire me to move, to be better. I know it was from a place of love and concern. I also know it was exactly the wrong thing for me in that moment. I should have said something, but I didn’t. I let the overwhelm build and I chose to walk away for a while, repeating an old pattern.
The loneliest place is not knowing where to turn or who to trust. It is knowing that your mental patterns aren’t accurate, but your heart isn’t giving you direction. It is realizing that your touchstone or totems are memories and memories fade. It is feeling that you can no longer lean on the one person in this world who has always seen you, always supported you, because you also know space is necessary for him and for you. The loneliest place lives at our very core, in the confusion and overwhelm and the muck of life. It is created by us.
And can be filled…. by us. By me.
In this expanding capacity I know I am too much for most people. I need too much. The only one who can even come close to honoring my capacity is me.
So I took a deep breath. Reached out to someone that I know I can trust and I dug in. I had to figure out a few things. Like, if my heart wasn’t leading the way, my mind had to… but I had to be very selective in what I chose to listen to. It is russian roulette with yourself. Pick the wrong thing, fall deeper in the hole.
I don’t have that luxury any more. It is just me. Fighting me. Leaning into the battle, the resistance, the pain. All to see if there is anything left to help me get to the top.
I will rise, for me. I will climb, for me. I will be happy, for me. I will be my own best friend, my own lover, my own confidante, until I am full enough that other people won’t buckle underneath me. I will survive, for me. ❤ ❤
Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay