I have something like six different blogs and rarely post to any of them. It’s been years since I’ve regularly blogged anywhere but here, and I only blog here intermittently. But, every once in a while, I feel like writing.
This morning I’ve been thinking a lot about grief. Also a lot about just struggling.
I have a lot of fears. Some of them rational, some of them irrational. I worry, for instance, that I’m annoying. Every time I need or want something I feel like I shouldn’t talk about it because I’ll annoy someone. I also avoid hanging out with my friends because I don’t want any of them to get burnt out on me. When I’m lonely I think, “I shouldn’t call anyone because I don’t want to seem needy.” When I’m not lonely, I don’t call, because I figure everyone in the world has better things to do than hang out with me.
And then there is the piercing fear that one moment I’ll be happy and laughing with someone, and the next moment they’ll hate me, and I won’t know why.
This is a million times worse with anyone I actually care about.
And grief. Most of the time I feel fine, but often it’s the moments of happiness that are the worst because I step right off of the edge of an emotional cliff I didn’t realize was there. There are moments where I’ll say, “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in known memory!” and then five minutes later I’m crying in my bathroom.
All of that to say that where once my isolation was an artifact of all of the bad things in my life, these days it’s mostly a self-imposed protective measure. Only it doesn’t serve to protect me, it just makes everything worse.
I had this kidney infection. I was so, so sick. I had all of these IVs and all of these nurses fussing over me and it was so surreal, because I kept thinking, “this morning I was walking around like nothing was wrong.”
And it wasn’t until I was told how sick I was and had the medicine to make me better that I realized my definition of “fine” was sort of insane.
I suppose the same thing is true about my emotions.
Only I can’t go to the ER and say, “hey, something is wrong, I know something is wrong” and have someone stick a needle in my arm to make it go away.
And now I need to go to work and take care of other people, while in the back of my mind a little voice screams that I’m the one that needs help.