Hump Day

I have stuff in me. Stuff that needs to exit my body as soon as possible. stuff that makes my back seize up and my joints ache. Thoughts, ideas, judgments, emotions, resentments, longing, to-dos and worries, cravings, regrets.

I often think about past relationships. One's I'd like to revisit with the knowledge I have now. I want to direct my younger self to respect myself, to say no more often. I want to actually hear when someone says they don't want me. To not waste any of my time second-guessing my choices and directions that my life might take. I want to tell that beautiful 23-year-old girl to move on. He's trying to tell you, and you aren't listening. You are not a victim in this life. Your choices are made by you.

Going through life as a victim is a familiar place. It invites me in to sit in the familiar chair of longing, wishing I could be better but never getting off my ass to make anything happen. Victims think they are rational and sane. I didn't choose so many of the events in my life, but I decide how to act or react to any one of them. Mom has dementia, feel bad for me. Son has a terrible disease,  I sulk in the back of my closet, and decide I'm all alone in this ordeal. Someone ignores me at the auto shop; they must have it in for me.

My neighbor doesn't wave back when I say hello. Why doesn't she like me?

It's raining, and I just spent thirty minutes on the perfect blowout. Don't get your hair wet! Everything will fall apart if that blowout gets wet and kinks. 

People are reaching out because they feel sorry for me. They don't understand. 

I don't deserve to think this way; my thought cycle is completely messed up right now.

Watching an eighteen-year-old girl have a panic attack so bad she started to seize changed me. Do I want to go back to the place where it happened? That place was my happy place. The place where I found solace and escape from the shit inside my head. Now what?

Avoidance, I'm avoiding things: Setting boundaries with my dad for the nineteenth time. Completing the step to take so Dermot can attend his high school graduation, even though he's not actually graduating until he's 22. Laundry, because it never ends. Completing my PT exercises so my right hip gets as strong as my left, and my hip pain will go away. Deciding to stop eating the peanut M&M's I bought from Costco in a weak moment. Scheduling the surgery for Dermot's GI issue. Contacting the few applicants for Dermot's care because the last one quit suddenly. Training for my upcoming bike races in early June. Getting out of bed before three snoozes. 

These things are hard, and will only take me a few minutes to do, but my depression tells me to be angry about it all. It tells me to take a nap. It tells me to eat the M&M's. It tells me not to call my friends because they are too busy for my bullshit. It tells me that in some way, I probably did something to make everything my fault.

This is all gibberish and not at all the perfectly formed essay I had hoped it would be. 

I needed these thoughts out of my head. I wanted to share so I don't feel like the only one. 

I scraped the bottom of the van on the curb at the garden store. I'm not wearing any makeup. One of the plants I bought today tipped over in the van, and there is muddy dirt all over the floor. The woman called to schedule the surgery. I got a scam text telling me my Apple Store purchase was not authorized. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb.  

I bought my friend a birthday present. I planned ahead. I shopped at Whole Foods for healthy things and decided the boycott was not my responsibility. I politely decline to help with the special education crisis of the week. I turned the music up really loud. The sound system in my disibility van is fucking awesome. And I continue to spell disability wrong.

Hump day.