Coping Skills

Masks

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I took a few really great pictures this weekend of me smiling and having a great time.

They weren’t a lie, but they were taken during the moments where I was able to put on the mask that I wore for about half of the weekend. The other half of the weekend I spent hiding in the car, or in the hotel room, too tired to keep my eyes open. Falling asleep across the bed with my shoes still on because depression has set in so fully that, while I know there are reasons to live, I can’t always feel them.

Riding home, Wonder Woman points out an amazing city skyline, Philly I think, and normally my heart would want to explode with the beauty of it, right now, I appreciate that she pulled me out of my own head to tell me, but I can’t FEEL it the way I normally can and that makes me so so sad.

I can wear the mask and smile and fool lots of people but I can’t make myself feel the way my face appears to be feeling.

Apathy is a horrible emotion.

A beautiful sky still looks beautiful and I can appreciate the colors and the beauty that is the sunset. I’m glad I’m alive to see it, but I also would be just as happy if I wouldn’t wake up to see another one.

And that makes me sad. It also terrifies me.

But I put on the mask all weekend because it wasn’t about me. I knew enough to keep myself safe. I had lots of friends supporting me from afar..

One of them saw one of my selfies and was shocked when I told her how I was really feeling. Guess how many rejected selfies it took for me to capture one where the mask was adequately covering my real feelings.

The mask is exhausting for me, and the more I wear it, the harder it becomes to reach out. The harder it becomes to tell people I’m in danger.

I’m starting to understand how those who wear it all the time can’t reach up and find a hand to grab. Maybe it’s time to take the mask off for awhile. Maybe it’s becoming too comfortable. Pretending is exhausting but it’s almost easier than being vulnerable and telling someone just how nice it might be to drift away.

Explosions

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anger

So much anger wrapped up inside of this body.

When I’m alone, and it’s ready to come out, it explodes.  I don’t always know how to contain it.  I don’t know where to channel it.  I’ve stopped yelling, stopped screaming at everyone around me.

I feel horrible for the years that Parker and Kidlet lived with that and I’m working through it all.  But there’s still so much anger.

Life fucked me over.  I fucked me over.  My illnesses fucked me over.  People around me fucked me over.

And I’m ANGRY.

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And now that I’m not just screaming at people and expecting everyone else to take it for me I don’t know what to do with it.  The gym or walking helps when I get myself out of the house when I start to rage.

Last night the rage took over while I was in the worst sort of mood and all I could think of was breaking things.  Breaking myself.

I was alone, things went wrong, I couldn’t find peace in my head and I couldn’t figure out where to start to make peace in the space around me so I started hitting things and then when the urge got too bad to self injure I sat down and started kicking things until I heard wood splinter.

I grabbed tattoo pens with the intention of drawing on myself and when they wouldn’t write I dug them too hard into my skin and then sobbed realizing just how bad my anger has gotten.

Today there is a broken kitchen cart and red, welted, angry skin as a reminder that anger leaves lasting wounds.

So much trauma for one person.  For years and years people have told me I’ve been through so much and I’ve brushed them all off.  “You’re so strong”  No, I just don’t have a choice.

But no,  really, I’ve been through so so much, and I’m finally allowing myself to feel a lot of what I’ve turned into stories and hidden away.  It’s so easy to tell these stories when they are just that, stories.  Words strung together.  It’s far more difficult when I’m in this program that’s helping me feel all of the feels that are underneath the words.

And I’m angry at all of the things that have been done to me.  I’m angry at the fact that no one protected me.  I’m angry that I was never able to protect myself.

I’m really fucking angry but I need to figure out how to stop taking it out on myself because I need to survive this.

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Impostor Syndrome

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Some people have impostor syndrome when they are doing big positive things like presentations or working or, you know… adulting.

I have impostor syndrome when my mental illness flares.

“I can’t really be this person, I mean, it must just be for attention. I should snap out of it”

“Am I just trying to start drama and seeking attention like everyone says we are?”

Where are those boot straps I’m supposedly able to pull myself up by?

And then I stand outside at the corner of a building panting and texting Wonder Woman inside just to let her know I’m okay but can’t even walk across the rink. Feeling like a fucking asshole for leaving the way I did.

I did what I needed to do after I left. I walked. I texted Mickey. We walked together. We got ice cream. I stayed safe.

And the whole time I questioned myself. Maybe I’m making it all up. Maybe I’m faking it.

But who the fuck wants to feel like this? Who wants to talk themselves into this? Why would I think that’s happening?

The whole world keeps telling me to pull myself up by my bootstraps. And I will, but it’s not something I can do by will alone. It takes work, and not just running away from the emotions like I’ve spent the last two years doing (well duhhhh who didn’t see that coming, I did).

But this isn’t fake, and I can’t exercise it out (but it’ll help) and I can’t lose it through weight loss (healthy eating helps though) and I do have to push through some things but sometimes I’m going to walk into a situation that’s too much and I’m going to fucking bolt.

Thank god I don’t need anyone else to tell me that’s okay (external validation is helpful but yeah, I’m totally valid.)

But I’m letting you know that I feel this way because chances are, you do too. We just never talk about it.

What Doesn’t Kill

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So, here’s the deal. I’m not going to be one of those people that say God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle. Because, seriously . . look at my life.

However, I was one that said this phrase, a lot. But, each one of these things that kept hitting me, kept making me more of the me I was meant to be. And then, after I recovered from each major thing I would look back and say I wouldn’t change a thing because it put me where I am today, and I’m right where I am meant to be.

Now, before I say this next phrase, please realize.

I Want Parker Back. I want my wife back. There is NO denying that.

However. That situation made me who I am and put me where I am right this second. So no, a year ago, I wasn’t already strong enough, because I wasn’t who I was meant to be yet. If everything would not have happened I would not be where I am this second.

And I’m right where I am meant to be.

And I love me. And that, is an amazing feeling.