I’m confused. I’m torn. I’m trying. I’m failing.
My girl moved out (again), yesterday. She was home for 6 days. She caused disruption, angst, turmoil, and a flood of emotions I can’t begin to describe. I say she caused it. That makes me feel guilty. Did she cause it or did her disorder cause it? Or is it both? How do I separate that? How do I separate her from her disorder? Can I separate it? As much as I tell her that she can’t let her disorder define her; I feel like that is what I am doing.
When I think of my girl, the first thing I think of, and feel is chaos. I no longer think of my little pink princess. I hate that.
How do I know when I have done enough for her? I don’t think I have. Should I be making appointments for her to psychiatrists and therapists? Should I be picking her up, taking her to appointments, watching her walk inside, waiting in the parking lot until she is finished and then take her back to him? Should I take her to another state? Will distance help? Should I stop working to care for her? How far do I go? How much is enough?
I feel myself breaking a bit more each day. I get annoyed at things I wouldn’t have a year ago. I don’t like it. I drink too much, and I eat too much. Why am I so weak? Why can’t I get a grip and control both? I need to feel in control of something. With everything else that is happening around me, why do I sabotage myself by doing things that I know are not healthy for me? Yes, the drinking makes me forget for a bit; makes me fake happy, makes it easier to pretend I’m okay. The food is my comfort, as fucked up as that is.
I’m not okay.
I AM NOT OKAY, but my girl is worse.
Each day my walls grow stronger, taller, impenetrable; my walls are my power
Reinforced by the hurt, the sadness, the loneliness, the fear
My walls keep me safe; they keep my heart safe
Safe from feeling too much, safe from giving too much, safe from caring too much
My walls make me a cold-hearted bitch
Walls help me pretend, help me keep going, help me disappear
Behind my walls I can show you want I want you to see; not what is really me
I dare you to get inside my walls
I am tired
I am tired of fighting for happiness
I am tired of fighting for love
I am tired of feeling useless
I am tired of feeling worthless
I am tired of giving my all to others
I am tired of playing pretend
I am tired; mind, body and soul
I am tired of feeling out of control
I am tired of my spinning world
I am tired of living the lies every day
I am just tired
We all have days where we try to convince ourselves that we are okay. We got it all under control, right? I think it’s part of self-preservation. I know if I didn’t pretend everything is A-OK, I would have been committed by now.
My question is, when is it time to stop pretending? When is it acceptable to stop pretending? My game face is tired. My mind is tired. My body is tired. I am contemplating taking a weekend getaway, just for me. Just to see what it is like to be alone and not responsible for anyone but me. I can’t remember a time when I did anything like that. Is that sad? I wouldn’t even know where to go or what to do. Would I just sleep, read, watch TV? I have no clue. Could I actually be alone for an entire 48 hours? Maybe I’m afraid of what I would discover about myself. What if I like the alone time? What if I realize what is supposed to make me happy doesn’t? Then what? I create a brand new hell for myself to live with day in and day out.
The girl child plays heavily into my daily struggles. At the end of last week I felt like I had finally come to terms with what I needed to do. I wrote my girl a list of expectations. Things that needed to change if she was going to continue living in my house and what I would and would not do for her if she chose to move out. I am giving her a two week period to make changes. I don’t know when I will give it to her. I assume there will be yelling and screaming and tears. And of course this weekend my girl was actually…..sweet, nice, helpful. She is also at the beginning stages of a manic episode. I guess there really isn’t a right time, I’m hoping I will know when it’s time. And I hope I will be able to live with the repercussions.
Maybe I’m just going through a mid-life crisis. Maybe I’m a wreck because I’m going through menopause, which I have no actual symptoms of. Maybe I’m at a point where I just keep on pretending because it’s too late for a change. It’s too late to figure out what I want and what I don’t want. It’s too late to stop pretending. Time to put the game face back on. Time to keep pretending.