I’m at a fork in the road. One path leads to parts unknown. What awaits on that journey could be good, bad, or nothing at all. The other path is the safe route. It’s also filled with unknowns, but it is easier to predict what lies ahead. I’m stuck here, staring at two roads and knowing I must choose one. What’s funny is that I’ve been sure which one I was going to take until a few days ago. I knew 100%. And now that a little light has been shed on the beginning of that path, I hesitate. I’m restless with it. Today I’ve paced, fiddled, puttered. I’ve done anything to keep myself from making a decision.
To be honest, there’s not a set deadline by which I must make my choice. In black and white terms, there really isn’t. But inside me…inside, I know I must choose and do it soon. If I don’t, the indecision itself becomes unbearable and will tear me apart. There’s only so much worrying over something one can do before going crazy with it. I know what I want to do. That part is easy. The difficult part is that I don’t know if I have the courage to do it. I don’t know if my heart could handle the possible negatives that I might encounter. But I want what lies down that difficult road. It calls to me. I want it so much I can taste it. I just don’t know if I’d survive anything but a good ending. So many people would tell me to choose the scary path. I can hear their voices urging me to do it and I can hear their arguments for it. It would make me stronger, for one. Because it would take courage, and I’m a rather risk adverse person, facing my fear would be a win. I might get my happy ending, but it’s not guaranteed. And if I didn’t…well, I don’t know what I’d do. Kelly Clarkson says it best…”What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger”. But let’s face it. Even if it doesn’t kill you, it can really, really suck. Friends would also tell me that if I choose the safe path, I’ll never know what could have been. And because they know my personality so well, that’s a big one. Never knowing would probably eat me alive. I hate uncertainty. I hate not knowing. I’m very impatient and controlling. So much so, that the idea of just letting the unknown stay that way is nearly impossible. I’ve argued back and forth with myself. I’ve weighed the pros and cons of each decision, thought about all the possibilities, and debated about what my personality type can and can’t handle. I’m nervous and anxious, but that’s not going to go away until I do something. That much I know. And I can’t stand here at a crossroads forever, can I?
0 Comments
Falling down. It’s something we’ve done since the day we took our first step. Fall down, get up, fall down, get up. When we were young, getting up was pretty easy. We had encouraging hands that were quickly there, helping to lift us. We had bright, cheerful voices to teach us it was no big deal and just an “upsy-daisy!”. Our legs grew sturdier and our spills fewer.
But we don’t just fall down physically, and this isn’t something that is, or even can be, outgrown. We screw up and make mistakes all the time. This weekend, I did a lot of falling down. I mean, a lot. I don’t know if it’s because of my long term struggles, because I’m a perfectionist, or if it’s really the truth, but I often feel like I fall down more than others. Which, okay, maybe I do. What worries me, though, is that it’s harder and harder for me to get back up afterwards. I wish my mistakes were just an “upsy-daisy”. I wish all it took to bounce back was a quick kiss, maybe a cool band-aid, and something different and interesting to sidetrack me. But instead, my falls build up in my mind until I feel like I’m being buried alive by the memories of them. I know what you’re going to say, because I’ve already tried to say it. I need to “get back in the saddle and try again”. I need to acknowledge what I’ve done wrong, and try to do better. I should learn from my missteps and not repeat them. Oh, how I know all the right things to tell myself. They are all the things I would tell someone else who was beating themselves up for being, well, human. I don’t listen very well, though. At least, not when I’m saying the good things. I think that’s the clinical depression part of my brain. It seems to have the part of my head that calls the shots completely surrounded by a thick wall, so “help” in all its various forms bounce off, rendered ineffective. I know I’m no different than everyone else. The teeny, tiny, logical, rational part of my brain understands that. The problem is, that part of my head gets squelched by the rest of it. Until I figure out how to either quiet the screaming part – the “Bad Alison” part – or reinforce the rational part, I’m stuck in this place where I’m all alone on one side, and the rest of the world is together on the other. When we bought our new house, I thought about a lot of things. I considered the neighborhood, schools, mileage to and from work, the nearest grocery store, and gas station. I factored in utilities, taxes, and after school plans. I planned and prepared and thought I had all the bases covered.
But I missed something. I have a long commute to work, and there is basically one route that is the most gas and time efficient. Unfortunately, my drive home along this route takes me past the hospital that I spent a week after my mental breakdown and suicide attempt. Each day I drive past it, and try to ignore what is now a daily reminder of the darkest time in my life. Sometimes I am distracted by either music, a conversation, or even my own thoughts, and I only briefly acknowledge the metal roof as I drive by. Other days…days like today… I see that building and the familiar sign screaming to the world that it is a “Behavioral and Mental Health Facility” and I am slapped in the face with memories of the days leading up to my “visit” there. It’s been over a year since I was released, and I had hoped that by now the pain and guilt and yuck that I felt then would be gone. But it’s never gone. A lot of days it is pushed to the background of my mind, where it sits and gathers a few cobwebs and I can pretend with ease that it never happened. But just as I start to think the past really is in the past, and the hurt from those memories is gone, a routine drive home and my daily sighting triggers a sharp stabbing in my heart. It’s like the floodgates of a dam are opened and everything comes pouring back in, just as clear and crisp as the day it happened. Today the stabbing in my heart was so intense it triggered tears. I was crying because of the horror that I remember in that place and because I was reminded one more time that I am a person capable of causing huge turmoil in the lives of many with my actions. The guilt I feel is huge, and it seems never ending. I’ve tried to convince myself of the silver linings this whole ordeal has shown me. Yes, I caused many people to hurt and ache and feel horrible….but, that means there are many who love me, doesn’t it? Yes, I spiraled hard and fast when I thought my world was ending….but I fought through it and have stronger relationships now because of it. And yes, I spent a week among people who had hit their own lows, too…people I’m ashamed to say I would have done anything to avoid in years past. But now I see people with newer eyes…eyes that see struggles and despair and cause me to offer up a prayer or give that extra smile because I may be the only one “seeing” them that day. I try so hard to think of these things when I feel the hurt threatening to overtake me. But sometimes it just doesn’t work, and the ache inside is too much. I could probably start taking a different way home, and avoid this daily crapshoot. But it would add precious time to my drive, and dollars to my gas bill. Would it be worth it? I don’t really know. I say that because even though I risk days like today, where I’m eaten away with guilt and shame, I also risk losing the reminder of how far I’ve come. What if, without it, I forget how hard and deep I fell? What if I lose sight of the fact that I have a built-in weakness that allows me to fall faster into darkness than those without depression? What if I forget that life isn’t something you take for granted? Sometimes you need a daily reminder of these things, regardless of the pain it may still invoke. Because the pain that follows when you get too smug or complacent could be so much worse. Life is full of people who make you feel like crap, like you’re “less than”, like you’re a toy or a pawn for their own means. Life is full of assholes, basically. For most of my life, I’ve let assholes affect me in some way. I stand by while they are asshole-ish to someone else, I let their opinion dictate how I see myself, I seek their approval, and I let them influence my mood. Do you do that, too? Just let the question sink into you for a minute and allow yourself to really answer, even if only internally, if assholes have a hold over you, too. If you can honestly say that they don’t, good for you! I’m so glad that’s the case, and I wish you could just transplant into me whatever gene you have that I’m lacking. If you do let assholes affect you in some way, I’m with you. It sucks, it’s wrong, and wouldn’t it be great if we could just stand up and say “Fuck you, you asshole” and that be it?
I started today just not in the mood to put up with this crap anymore. Who’s to say that people shouldn’t be wanting MY approval? That’s my angry, pissed off, in the heat of the moment thing to say. But really, that’s the wrong answer, too, because then I become the asshole, and I’d have to kick my own ass for being a jerk. The real answer is this: The only approval I should be seeking is God’s. No man, woman, or child on this earth should have the ability to hold over my head the idea that I’m not good enough. [Insert HUGE sigh right here]. Even though I know that’s the right answer and the right way I should be thinking, it’s a hard thing to hang on to when you’re faced with an asshole. Lately, that’s how I’ve been classifying everyone around me. Asshole, almost asshole, non-asshole. Right, wrong, or indifferent, that’s how I see things right now. Big flashing neon red lights over those that I wish to avoid forever and ever…those who’ve hurt me in the past and I want nothing more to do with until the day I die. I see big flashing yellow warning signs over some….those that I have yet to decide where they really are on the asshole scale….do they really want to hurt me or are their intentions true? And those precious ones with the giant glowing halos over their heads…those that I know are true, genuine people...who only want what’s good and right and lovely for me. It makes me sad that it feels like there are more red and yellow lights staring me in the face than anything else. It should be the other way around. And maybe it is. Maybe I’m viewing it all wrong, and there are more good people than I realize. I’ve been wrong before, so maybe I am on this, too. The only problem with that is I’m too untrusting of anyone to find out. Today, I’m cautious. Don’t ask me why or who or how. I just am, and there’s no explaining it. I’m pulling into my little shell of safety and only poking my head out to either hiss at an asshole or maybe offer a smile to an angel. |
Archives
July 2019
|