Do you ever wake up crying? I do.
The world seems overwhelming sometimes, but especially when the pressures of Christmas bear down on you. Doing the right things. Getting the right things. Giving the right things. Knowing the right things. Making it to all the things. Wrapping all the things. Celebrating all the things. And not losing sight of the realness of things.
I know that I am blessed, that I am well, that I have so many things to be grateful and thankful for…and as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror crying while putting on my makeup I tell God and my reflection this list of things. Thank you Lord for legs that work. Thank you Lord for my family, near and far. Thank you Lord for coffee in my mug. Lord I am grateful for the air I breath and the lungs that breath it. Lord thank you for another day. And even as I say these things I don’t feel grateful for most of them. I could go without this day, this air, these lungs…breath. I could. This is not a cry for help or an admission of suicidal thoughts. I am not suicidal. I am sad. I am uncomfortable. I am exhausted but not tired. I am scared things will never get better. I am straining to keep myself from isolating. I am making mental “to do” lists that I feel unable to do, and yet the creation of them seems endless. The tasks seem endless. The work of life is endless. Is it all pointless?
My mind knows there is purpose. My intellect tells me this too shall pass. My heart desperately wants to be safe and still. When joy and peace and happiness are just out of reach…it’s miserable. I want what I can’t seem to have.
Mental illness is knowing its not so bad and that there is purpose and yet not being able to convince yourself of this truth. It’s a lot like parenting a teenager. Ha! Coming up against the wall of “you have no idea what you are talking about.” Oh you’re right, I probably don’t. My life up until this point has been a lot of not doing or knowing things, good thing you have the world to fill in the blanks of all the things your dumb parents don’t know. This is thick with sarcasm if you can’t tell. I have much to impart on my dramatic hormonally driven teenagers. Just as my intellect is smarter than the emotional center of my awkwardly wired brain and could teach it a few things. If only we could program our brains like we program all the other things in our lives… set it on auto updates and give it virus protection.
I suppose that would be no fun.
We can’t wish away pain and suffering and not also see how we would lose freedom and joy.
I don’t want to have to know what its like to wish it all away. As I stood in the kitchen last Sunday searching my kids hearts for their intentions and their safety, I feared for my own. As I say to them “sure we all want to skip parts of life, that’s normal” I think of how many parts I want to skip. As I tell them we can’t talk our way to happiness and mental health, we have to work for it, I wonder how hard I am working. It all feels like climbing up a slide in your socks. Gripping the edges tightly, life depending on not letting go while frantically moving your feet and legs to get a grip. Could I just get a grip?!
The ramblings of a struggling brain in transition. I see a dim light at the end of this tunnel, a light that never goes out. I am going to make it…you will too.
The Middle Most by Jill Veltkamp 