Lonely. I have never felt this lonely. And scared because people who feel like this usually do stupid things. I used to do super self-destructive things when I was anxious or depressed. It’s amazing I’ve survived this long. You know, drinking ’til you blackout…going home with a stranger you just met…driving drunk. I guess I have had my share of “get out of jail free” cards. I don’t think I deserve them but nonetheless I am still breathing. But I’ve never felt so isolated while having these other feelings. I want to do something stupid. I want to get out of this house, maybe just book a trip somewhere and disappear. Drink myself into a stupor or worse. But I can’t. I can’t do that anymore because I’m a Mom. I have to keep all of this bottled up inside and pretend I’m normal today. It’s been going on for awhile but especially today. And I can let it show.
But it must show, right? Like cracks in the surface of my being where the reality just seeps out. Like my spirit itself is shattering my body in order to escape? It feels like that. Like I will explode. And I realized I have no one to talk to about it except my Doctors. That’s it. The only people who I can tell how I feel are those whom I pay to do so. And that is sad.
I keep thinking about Grey’s Anatomy. Meredith. If you are a fan, you’ll understand this. I’m like the “dark and twisty” Meredith who is sinking into the icy water and not caring. No instinct to fight back. Just allowing the water to slowly do its job. I always loved the dark Meredith because she felt like me. But as they always say on Grey’s, despite all their crazy, they have “people.” They have their people. And some people or even one, is better than no people. I have no people. My mother is a crazy narcissist and my sister’s life is a disaster. I actually have to avoid them or I get worse. My best friend lives so far away and works like 100 hours a week so I never even see her anymore. The one close friend I had in this town turned out to be a Bible thumping hypocrite and tale teller. She told my secrets to other people. Not my people.
That leaves my husband. I mean I can’t tell my kids I’m falling apart because I have no one to talk to. They’d freak. They cannot be my people. But my husband. I can’t talk to him anymore. Our relationship is an emotional black hole. The last time I confessed my anxiety to him he threatened to quit his job and stay home and take care of the family since I was incapable. And he didn’t care if we lost the house because of it. Which frankly is emotional blackmail because now…no matter what happens, I can never tell him about my sadness or my anxiety or my panic attacks. That jackass shut me up but good. I’m sitting here today because my PTSD made it so I couldn’t work anymore. Not at what I was doing. Too much stress. But now because I can’t work, I can’t leave. I’m stuck here. I’m trapped. I have nowhere to go and no one to tell. Except this page. I write these words to get some of the sad and lonely bits out before my kids get home from school.
Maybe somebody reading this will be one of my people. I can hope anyway.
P.S. All credit to anything I cribbed from Shonda Rhimes. I wish I could live in Shondaland. I feel like she could’ve been one of my people.