Others

I haven't written in a long time because...well, I didn't think anyone would care. Somewhere along the way in this weird ass journey I'm on I really started caring what other people thought and I hate it.

It makes me afraid. And sad and so very anxious all the time.

I have a select tribe of friends that I trust and know that I can be myself with. These are my Safe People and I'm beyond grateful to have them in my life. But occasionally, when things in my head get weird, thoughts drift in like, 'Stop over communicating with them. They don't want to know every thought as it drifts into your head. They have their own shit to deal with. They have jobs, you don't. Quit bugging them all the time.'

And then the not working thing gets all loud. 'Why aren't you working? What the hell is wrong with you? Why can't you just let shit go like everyone else? You worked for literally half your life, what the fuck is wrong with you now?' It's not a nice voice.

So then I get sad. I feel bad. And I start thinking about what others think and it gets worse.  'She's lazy. It's a good thing her fella has money. Must be nice to not have to work. I mean, so she has anxiety and depression (complete with air quotes) -big deal, who doesn't? No wonder she's so fat. All she does is lay around all day.'

And then I feel ugly. I think about how others see me when I venture outside. It's especially bad when I visit the grocery store.  'God, gross. Look at how her chins wobble when she talks. I'm sure she really needs the cookies in her basket right? Oh my god, she actually has a ring on her finger-that means someone is into that.' Ugh, look how she moves. She walks so slow because she can't move any faster. She's SO fat.'

Those aren't nice voices either. But I know them very well.

When they all seem to be shouting at the same time, I become vulnerable. I hide. I put on the Face of  Everything's Fine and send silly memes or include lots of laughing emojis in texts. But I don't talk on the phone. I don't watch dark television shows or read scary stories. I avoid loud places and stop wearing perfume because the smell is too strong. Food becomes ash in my mouth and I feel happy I don't want to eat (because then I might lose weight) and then I remember that's not healthy but choose to eat a piece of pie for dinner.

I talk to my therapist who tells me over and over again that I'm just in the middle of a rough patch, a journey, that a portal has opened up and past hurt is pouring through, right into my face to deal with regardless of if I want to or not. She reminds me I'm planning a wedding and that shit's stressful. She's not wrong.

I talk to my friends who tell me over and over again that they understand and I know they do. They tell me they love me, support me and remind me to be patient, kind and gentle with myself. They're not wrong.

I talk to my family who tell me that I worry too much, that I don't need to stress, that everything is fine. But they don't understand...they're wrong.

And they're right. I worry all the time. About everyone else, even my cats, more than myself. I put all my energy into what others need so I don't have to focus on my own needs. It's easier. And honestly, it makes me feel a little better. If I can help someone, it makes me feel validated and needed. Things I evidently need desperately.

And if I'm nice to everyone, maybe they won't think those not nice things. The stupid part is that I'll never know. And as others have said, it's not really my business what others think. Still, I go out of my way to be friendly and kind, even when I'm literally hating myself on the inside. No one needs to see how I feel, or hear about it. They have their own shit to deal with. They have jobs. I don't want to bug them all the time.

I go back to that beautiful tribe of friends, and I try. I try to remember the support and the love. I try to feel the support and patience and genuine caring they show me. I believe it's there, and that in itself was a mighty challenge to beat. But when things are hard and the voices are loud, It feels too hard to try. I need reminders. I need assurance and validation. And I feel vulnerable asking for it.

I ask my fella to sit with me when I feel this way and he does. He shares space with me, puts his hand on my leg or laces his fingers with mine. And then I want him to leave. I don't want him to see me being like...this...again. And then I start thinking about how whatever this is, it affects him. It affects our relationship and it affects our future. I'm not the same person I was when we met, he assures me no one is. I argue, what if he falls out of love with this 'new' me.

And then I remember all the people that have left before. I think about the hurt I felt, the not understanding why, the pain of never having answers. And I try to remember, that's in the past. He loves me. And then I think about how one day, he will leave. Death is a part of life after all. All those we know will die.

So then I feel sad. I think about those that are already gone. I think about what will happen when my family dies. I wonder about how I'll handle everything from the loss to the assets left behind to the funeral itself. For all of them. Mostly dad, but all of them. My fella's family too. And the cats. And my friends...

And then I think about mom. How much I miss her every day but especially lately as the wedding gets closer and closer. And truthfully, I wonder if I'm using that feeling of missing her to stay in this sadder state. When people ask, it's a great way to get them to stop asking if I'm ok. 'I'm just missing my mom a lot right now' I say and they say they're sorry and we change the subject. It's easier that way.

They have their own shit to deal with. They have jobs, I don't.  I don't want to bug them.