I wish I could fill this page with the good. The finding myself. The enjoying how my husband gets me and grows with me and challenges me and takes care of me and keeps me
alive somewhat sane. Those are facts, I feel growth and change and it’s exciting and good. But the whole truth is, no matter how much I try to will my brain and heart to fixate on the positive and move towards the even better, it’s a battle I lose a lot of the time. A counselor (that I never connected with and who didn’t get me and I could go on and on) once told me that I put too much pressure on my husband. She told me this when I said that I was happy when I was with him. Even though I didn’t much care for her style or most of what she said, that resonated with me, because in an odd way, it added to my already overflowing sense of guilt. I guess that’s why I kept that information. However, as much as I try, I can’t really help it. I don’t have to tell him how I’m feeling, I don’t have to speak out. He knows and he helps without ever having to say something clichéd or a picture perfect answer. He does his part in the little things and those grow to be big things and that’s that. I’m with him, I smile. Even when the darkness is lingering.
The stress is overwhelming and choking otherwise. The darkness and despair taking over. It multiplies faster than I can eradicate and replace it with good. I feel inadequate and tired and ugly and a burden and a bad everything. I’m in pain most of the time now. Mostly the knot in my stomach, the pressure in my chest, the signs of stress added onto stress. There’s also physical pain. Muscles tensed, tension headaches, sore throats from keeping my neck muscles tense. It’s a never-ending circle of evil.
I want to be grateful and kind and loving. I want to show so much love for the people I care about. Yet I’m trapped. Unaware. Unsure. In pain. Scared. Panicked.
I shouldn’t be writing this. I should keep up my spirits and keep it all bottled up and just stop. I should work on me and just shout from the rooftops how lucky and blessed I am. Yet, for some reason, I can’t stop myself either. Because I can’t even talk. I can’t even TELL you or anyone, no matter how wonderful or awesome they are to me, the messed up tangle of pain and anger and horror and sadness that is my brain. NO one I love deserves to see or be in there.
The problem is. It’s just… disabling. I can’t get it out. But it also takes a lot of effort to stay normal (if it can even be called that). So I write this. If only to get it out. If only to make myself think about it. Hard days are coming and I need to gather strength from deep within. Strength I don’t even know if I can hold on to. Strength I don’t even know if I still have. But I’ll try and I’ll go on. I just hope this thing moves on soon. I hope I can come out stronger. Soon.