Catharsis

Cathartic is getting psychological relief from unloading my sh*t on you people. Ok, well its cathartic writing but I also find it cathartic reading that I’m not alone. So maybe I can reach someone who just needed to read this. 

There are days that I wake up and lie in bed just to lie there. There are times I’m so comfortable in my delightful bed, I just want to soak up a few minutes of warmth and softness. Sometimes though, it’s because I don’t want to face what’s outside my door. Not the people outside my door, not the dogs, not the cat, not the messy spare room. I just feel hopeless. Sad. Useless. Anxious. It’s overwhelming. I lie there in fear that someone will notice by looking at me, that I’m consumed by those thoughts. I hate that this feeling creeps over me and I can’t control it. I think of all the positive things but my heart races faster and I just become more and more depressed. More and more useless and sad. Why? I have an ok existence. I have a wonderful husband who has overlooked many a flaw, whom I love dearly and entirely. I have two sons who are great and love me and I love them. I have two wonderful and currently healthy parents. An awesome sister who would be there in a heartbeat if I needed her. I have a career that I love and tend to do well at. I have friends who I care about and some who actually care about me. But instead creeps in my mind, my financial debt I’ve accumulated, my friend who talks about me behind my back, my mistakes I’ve made in life. It’s all consuming and it’s ridiculous. None of that matters. I chose to remain friends with those people, I chose to purchase the things I have, I chose to learn from mistakes I’ve made. And I know in the grand scheme of things it’s trivial. I know there are times that I hate myself so much, I can’t wrap my head around how or why my husband sticks around. There’s no reason to hate myself or imagine the world without me in it. But there it is. It is there. I put on a happy face and often don’t divulge any of this to anyone. My friends see me as happy and seeming to have it all together. No one knows that deep down inside I’m trying to let go of the feelings of despair. I smile and move on. I told my gyn I was having these breakdowns after one day I nearly called my husband home from work, because I was a danger to myself. My heart was pounding and all I could think of was being in the bottom of the deepest darkest well, and I couldn’t stand the enormity of it. I couldn’t live here anymore. But within a few hours of this tremendous weight on my chest, I got my period and then all of the sudden I felt normal again. A sigh of relief as I recognized the absurdity of that feeling. I had these feelings a few times in my life, but never this heavy. Never this close to wanting to truly end anything. Never this frequently. So I feel like maybe this is menopause related, I’m in my 40’s that seems logical. So there stands Stanley after having a conversation with my vagina, he stands there and said “ I feel like there’s something more you want to talk about” I said “yea, next time can we get at least a glass of wine first?”. Then I well up with tears and tell him of my thoughts on the menopause thing, and how that day I almost called my husband home, and I was scared. His response…. “Nah, it’s not menopause, it’s pms.”. Really ? PMS? WTF Stanley? So I kindly left with my script for prozac in my hands and pondered that thought. I filled the script, but don’t dare use it. As a kid in the 80’s I recall there being issues with women taking prozac… do I remember what they are? Nope. But I ain’t taking any chances. I don’t want to medicate. I want to be normal. So I medicate like any other grown ass woman, with beer. Just kidding, although on my nights off beer is there.

I am strong willed. I put my mind to things and I do them. I used to smoke for 20 years when I would drink alcohol. So when I was pregnant I quit and never missed it, but I also didn’t have alcohol. Alcohol of course loosens your inhibitions so it was a trigger that was hard to pull. I tried a few loosey goosey times quitting and by about 11pm I’d be sending my husband to the store for cigarettes. He didn’t mind that I smoked, which still baffles me…. I smelled bad and it’s just gross, but he didn’t mind and he never smoked a cigarette a day in his life. Anyway, one day work was tobacco testing…. And I was damned if I was going to fail a test. (I don’t like failing anything) So like that I quit. Listened to some apps while I slept which I feel like had zero affect. Even bought a vape thing. It was just me deciding that I will no longer suck on those cancer sticks, that stuck. Now here I was able to kick a habit with just making up my mind to not do it anymore. Sick, right? Now what is it that I can’t just make my mind up to be happy. Like I know I have things to celebrate and be happy for, but my brain doesn’t let it happen sometimes. 

So PMS??? Seriously? I do think hormones have something to do with it, as do other chemical imbalances. And heredity can play a factor. On both sides of my family there is undocumented mental instability. But here it is. And maybe that’s a huge factor. Do I want to medicate and live a life on meds? No I don’t. But I also don’t want these events anymore. I don’t think my husband deserves it. My kids certainly don’t deserve it. And I suppose, more importantly I don’t deserve it.

So now what? Talking about my lame ass problems isn’t going to take this physical feeling of anxiety or depression. In reality I don’t really have any “real” problems. I’m just living that norm existence. I guess the important thing is, I recognized when it is important to ask for help. And I would support any friend or family member in need of help, seeking help. I wouldn’t condemn them for medicating, why am I doing just that, to myself? As I’m writing this, it occurs to me that for sooo many years I never worked out consistently because my mind thought if I get used to exercising eventually if I stop, I’ll get out of shape and get fatter. Now I workout 6 days a week and can’t fathom missing a day. So same message applies, I’m fearful that if I start anti depression or anti anxiety meds I’ll be dependant and my life will change and it will be forever a routine or things will get worse. I don’t fully understand it, but I’ll keep trying to fix this without medication.

Why write about it? Because I’m not one to talk about it freely. And I know I’m not alone. I’ve chatted with a few over the past few months who suffer too, and it always helps to know that you are not alone. I will gladly talk and share to help a friend. Not every day is this, most days are amazing, or ok, standard. But either way, it doesn’t have to be this way. We can help eachother and lift eachother up from time to time. And I suppose now would be a good time for a phone number or two….1-800-273-8255 or text 741741 National suicide prevention lifeline. Honestly it’s never the answer. We all have purpose and deserve a shot to pursue it. There IS someone always willing to listen, and that someone may be me. I’m a good listener and talker and honestly would be honored to be trusted and help you.  

DON'T think because I can take a picture or use a snapfilter this makes me comfortable in my skin. But I'm working on it and try every day to love who I am and what I was determined to be. ❤