September 04, 2015

I Am Not Okay

I Am Not Okay - Next Life, NO Kids #honesty #BeReal

I don't know if it's my anxiety, ADHD, or another of my innumerable mental problems, but it doesn't take much to throw me into sensory overload. Children screaming or crying, a room full of people chatting and/or laughing. Suddenly it can feel like the temperature spiked 1000 degrees and I've been sipping champagne in the hot sun all day.

It happens almost every time I leave the house.

You would never suspect that I feel this way by looking at me. Oh, I may have immediate sweat-pits or a perspiration mustache, but otherwise I will appear cool, calm, and totally collected. I may even be engaged in casual conversation or making jokes (it's my thing). You would have absolutely no evidence of my desire to pick up the nearest chair, throw it through a window and scream, "SAVE YOURSELVES!!"

I have been perfecting the art of smoke and mirrors my entire life. I learned, very early, the importance of illusion and "FINE," and I trained myself to hide, even in the spotlight. And yet, three dreaded words have never failed to hurl me into hysterical tears. I work very hard to avoid them.

"Are you okay?"

No. I am not okay.

I don't remember the last time I felt okay. I'm not even sure I even know what "okay" means, or if I've ever experienced it. 

I am not okay.

I'm managing. It's what I do. I manage.

I keep myself busy and distracted by spinning too many plates and throwing irons into an already out of control fire. I get lost in Facebook and Twitter, attracting people who need my help. I lose myself in conversations supporting others, while tapping into my experience getting through shit.

Adoption - Sexual/Emotional Abuse - Bullying - Eating Disorders - Domestic Violence - Alcoholism - Rape - Suicide Attempt - Getting sober - Depression/Anxiety/OCD - 
An attempt on my life 

I have myself convinced that if I can use my experience to help others, it will lesson the noise in my head; it will quiet the voices screaming that I'm not good enough - that I deserved all the terrible things. I love helping others. I believe it's what I was born to do. I am my best self when I'm providing support and love to others - I am enough. 

Sometimes I can even hold onto that incredible feeling for a minute, and even sit still long enough to appreciate who I am -- and it's nice there -- and then it's not, and I need to start managing again.

I've done all the therapies. I've talked about my past to death in a million 50 minute sessions - I've been hypnotized and participated in long chats with my subconscious - I've written about the yuck, prayed about and meditated on it. I have tried both fighting and embracing it.

And still I feel like a pathetic weakling; an unlovable loser people merely tolerate or even worse - pity. No matter how many times people tell me how incredible I am or thank me for being the person who refused to let them give up. No matter how many women I help feel not so alone, I feel isolated and unworthy. I feel innately and irreparably damaged.

So, I hide.

I hide behind service work, and pray one day it will feel like enough. I exhaust myself trying to fix other people so I don't have to focus on how broken I feel.

I do too much for too little, and offer myself up for martyrdom like a cheap hooker because I'm terrified of being forgotten or replaced. I'm petrified if I don't, I'll disappear - crawl so deep inside myself it'll be impossible to find my way out. I fear if I'm not constantly proving to you that I matter, you'll forget about me or realize I wasn't so special after all.

And maybe you'll be right.

Don't Help Me #depression #motherhood #secrets

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