I’m drowning. It’s been one week since I left my job tomorrow. Today marks the 2 year anniversary of my 12 year old doggie running away., I feel so unsupported, and so unwanted right now, for absolutely no reason. I know if I reach out to any of my tribe, they will be right there to help me through this. How can one person feel so much all at one time. I feel afraid, hopeless, regretful and shame at having to quit my job and go on disability. I couldn’t even do the one thing that every other person does., I couldn’t keep the job that I’ve had for five years. I couldn’t keep myself together long enough to really get back into work and integrate with my team again.
When I went back to work, it was always awkward on my side. I felt like everyone was either ignoring me or treating me with kid gloves. It was of course all in my head, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. Sometimes I feel like that attack of whatever it was that made me go back on disability was the best thing that could have happened. The next minute I feel like I made the biggest mistake of my life and should have just worked through whatever was going on with me and my medication.
I feel hopeless and on a precipice. I don’t know how or what to feel or what to do with all of these emotions. I spent five months in intense therapy learning how to deal with these emotions and it’s like none of it ever happened. I can’t think long enough to even remember anything that I learned and worked on during this time. I have nobody that can truly understand what’s going on in my head and it’s making me feel isolated and alone. I feel like even Connor has distanced himself from me because of my rapidly changing moods. And that paralyzes me. I’m terrified of him not caring anymore.
My impulsivity is also going on overdrive. I can’t manage to go grocery shopping without buying stupid things I don’t need, like a new hummingbird feeder. This is a problem because I have a lot of debt to pay from being out of work for so long. I have thousands of dollars to pay, and no disability payments coming until my doctors send in my case files. If they don’t, I have nothing. I’m essentially just an unemployed, pathetic person who can’t fit in anywhere.
I’ve discovered photography and it felt wonderful. I’m currently in a class to learn how to take beautiful pictures from a photographer that I’ve idolized for years. She actually has taken pictures of my wedding, my family and just of myself as a present for Valentine’s day for Connor. She’s incredible. But now my head is getting in the way and I’m scared to even get my camera out. My pictures aren’t good. They aren’t as good as the other girls in the class. I see what I want my camera to do but can’t get it to do it. I’m used to catching onto things really quickly, but I’m just not satisfied with my progress. And it’s probably normal and fine with where I am, I don’t know. Just one more place I don’t feel like I fit in.
Since I quit my job, I haven’t left my house much other than to run errands like signing a release form for the doctor to send my case files to the insurance company and groceries. Where I again mess up and buy two flowers for outside on my steps, I’m doing a ton of yardwork which tears up my back and makes it scream in pain. I do it because it makes me not think. I am only thinking of the weeds and cleaning and getting things to look good. And I want and expect Connor to make comments about how good it looks and don’t get them. He isn’t one to care what the yard looks like unless the lawn is mowed. Just another thing I’m not good enough at. I’m entering in my spiral and I know it. I just don’t know how to get out of it again. I wait and wait for text messages from friends, so I feel loved and wanted. Yet I won’t reach out to anyone telling them I’m in pain. This writing is the only way I know how. And I feel it’s not even good enough either. It’s just me rambling, it has no beautiful language. It’s just word vomit. Another thing to fail at. Here is to another 4 viewers reading my pathetic rambling blog. Thank you 4 readers.