This is a tough post to write, but because I believe in being honest, I can’t not write it. And it’ll be choppy and vague in parts and I’ll do my best to explain as much as I can but some of this just isn’t my story to tell, so fill in the blanks, I guess. Or just give me the benefit of the doubt that I’m not being an asshole.
Today I called a therapist.
I alluded to it a week or so ago, but I’m not in a good place right now. I’ve seen signs of it for a while now, but I’ve dismissed them as random occurrences. Truth be told, I haven’t really been okay since June.
Talking about June will bring down a bit of a wrath I’m not sure I’m ready to handle, but that’s where this starts, I think. Maybe it starts before then. I’m not entirely sure.
In June I saw myself how other people saw me instead of how I saw myself. And I didn’t like what those people saw. It wasn’t who I wanted to be. It isn’t who I am.
It’s weird when that happens.
Even though I think the things said about me were born of some sort of personal conflict of which I remain unaware, previously discussed in private, and not from a place of legitimate concern for my well-being, I took note of them. There they were in black and white. How could I not? Absent the context in my real life, it was pretty miserable to read.
I know that I skew toward the negative. I always have. And Dan spent May and June preparing for a big thing at work and we fought quite a bit because he was stressed and I was…alone. My friends work or have lives of their own or are scattered hither and yon. It was just me. And I’d gotten so bogged down in my negativity and loneliness that I couldn’t see anything but that.
I had the internet. I turned to it. It bit me in the ass.
Eventually, I saw some truth in what was said about me and took steps to fix it. Not to be dishonest, but to shift my personal focus.
I focused on good things and good moments both online and off. (The snark kept coming anyway, so fat lot of good that did, you know?) Things got better.
July was a good month. Dan’s work pace slowed down. We took an amazing vacation. I thought I’d handled things.
And then Daddy died.
I called my OB, the only doctor I’ve seen in the past two years, the day after he died and asked for a prescription for something to help me with anxiety because every time I thought about it, I felt the panic building.
He said no. Or, rather, he said he could give me something else. A different medication than the one I know works. I didn’t fill the prescription because why start something that won’t work?
We buried Daddy and I felt like no one understood just how different my world looked. Because no one did. Because no one could.
I looked around last week and realized that I didn’t know when I’d last done laundry. It had been at least a week. (Thank God for uniform rental companies!)
I didn’t care if I showered. And not in the “I’m conserving water!” sort of way which I don’t actually practice. In the “I haven’t showered since I don’t remember when and I don’t care if my hair can actually stand up on its own.”
I’d stopped eating. Dan mentioned it Friday morning, that I wasn’t eating our leftovers for lunch, and I realized that I wasn’t eating our leftovers because I wasn’t eating anything. I told myself it was because of State of the Weight. I was watching my intake. Well, yeah, if by watching my intake I meant not eating anything except dinner and living off of coffee.
Friday afternoon I called our insurance company to find out about copays and deductibles and referrals and all that adult insurance stuff. I got the names of a few clinicians in my area and then had a really great Friday night that sort of screwed with my head a little.
If I can be that kind of mom, do I really need the help?
Well, yes. I do.
Sunday morning I saw the chaos around me and realized it mirrors the chaos inside me. And then this morning is where it gets to the part of my story that I can’t talk about because that story isn’t just my story, so writing that story without taking care not to hurt others is complicated.
I’ve been in my head a lot. I’ve done a lot of thinking. And I’ve realized that I’m not in a good place right now and I need help beyond what I’m capable of doing for myself with a good night of sleep and a few hours at Starbucks every few weeks.
Today I called a therapist.