Man last week was dark, yo.
Do you ever have one of those weeks where everything looks calm on the surface but inside there is a monster of a storm brewing, ready to open up? And not like the cute little bear rain cloud with Christopher Robin "Tut-tutting it looks like rain" like in Winnie the Pooh.
Oh, nonononono no.
Like, massive raging torrents of a storm cloud hovering above filled to the brim with black yucky outer blackity-blackness just waiting to spill over. It is not a pretty sight. And you know, well I tried. Really, but I could not pull myself out of it. Of course I had a really nasty cold- but most of the household had it and wasn't struggling like I was.
I'm pretty sure it all began with Breaking Bad two Sundays ago. The scene with Walter and Skyler reeeeeeally messed me up, Friends. Like for reals. I sat there watching completely stunned at the violence displayed between that couple like a waking nightmare replaying itself in front of me and completely broke down. I tried to hold it together until I got to the bathroom and barely made it while tears and sobs wracked my body. I couldn't speak, I couldn't articulate anything- only cry and cry and cry some more. There was no way of recovering from that for me. So I came out and displayed my misery for my poor husband who just gathered me up in his arms and held me shaking, while I cried more and more. Sobbing snot and tears into his shoulder, I was inconsolable. He mentioned something about post traumatic stress and that I was safe and that everything was alright. But I couldn't stop. It was really very strange for me and I felt awful and embarrassed that my Husband had to see me like that.
I am not whole.
I am still broken.
But I woke up in the morning and told myself that I was alright. That everything that scene represented was behind me and that I was okay. So I pushed through until my body started turning on me, reminding me that I was still very much not okay. My head became a pulsing mass pounding, my nose and sinuses closed themselves off from fresh air, while my throat- raging- threatened to smother me by internal strangulation. I whimpered in my sleep and slept fitfully. One night I awoke, choking on tears and phlegm, crying out from a dream that The Ex was sitting on my chest strangling me while my Husband, in real time, tried desperately to soothe me.
Then I turned into a tyrant. The house is a mess. The kids are out of control. The weed on the side of the house that I asked to get weed whacked a year ago is now taller than me. No one wants to contribute! No one listens to me! No one cares!!
In my miserable state I would throw out lazy half apologies that, "I'm just so sick," which I totally was, but I was also very much just not okay. Instead of taking a break and expressing myself honestly that I hurt, have unresolved trauma, am scared, and tons of other emotions- I tried to control every last aspect of my household. Pick up your toys! Clean your room! No if ands or buts! Do it! Do it right now!
I had become the rain cloud and everyone scattered when I swept into the room.
I can totally see now how people with clinical depression get stuck in a cycle of misery and self loathing. I felt like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. I'm sad because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I am so sad...
Poor Fat Bastard. I feel you.
I had convo's with myself in my head about how I could pull myself out of it.
'Make your own happy, M! Come on' you got this! Just rest a little it will be alright! You're just sick it will get better!'
But, oddly, that only made me want to punch myself in the face.
Like I said, I was f#@ked up.
Then I discovered one morning amidst it all that either my black hearted soul was trying to exercise itself out of my body or I was having my period. Unfortunately it was the latter which compounded my venomous mood and piled on top of it a good helping of emotions. So Sunday evening I went from watching the Emmy's and being resentful and hurt that Robin Williams had gotten older without asking my permission first, despised Sofia Vergara for her perfect perfectness, wanted to stab my eyes and ears out with my galaxy s4 while listening to Carrie Underwood sing "Yesterday" (don't do it) to falling head over heals in love with Merrit Weaver after her acceptance speech. Then, on revealing the death of Queen Elizabeth's mother on HBO's "The White Queen", I completely lost it again and ended Sunday evening weeping into my pillow because her mother loved her and understood her better than anyone else and now she was dead. Dead, dead, dead and Queen Elizabeth was all alone in a house full of enemies and spies...
So in the morning, still not feeling well, I resolved myself to not being beaten down by my circumstance. I painted my nails and made an appointment to get my hairs did, and looked into the process of getting myself a chemical peel because, well, if I ripped off my old ugly face, of course a refreshingly beautiful and happy one would take its place, right?
No, duh. Of course not. At the age of 35 (eep!) I know what it takes to make myself happy and show myself love but in wanting things right now, I forget that there is a process in place and it takes a hella long time. There will be moments of coasting along and little earthquakes that shake you up and remind you that there is still work to be done. My therapist was super good at reminding me that I couldn't force things to happen immediately. Appreciation is key. Appreciating where you are and how far you have come. Taking time to listen to yourself honestly. Your needs. "Life is one big balancing act" as Dr. Suess has said wisely, and I'm learning to try not to mix up my right foot with the left.
"It's a long road ahead."
Song of the day (turn it up and love her as much as I do. Because I do, soooooo): Tori Amos, "Little Earthquakes"