I’m sure I’m not the only one. OK? I’m not crazy. It happens to people sometimes, when you wake up in the morning, and you feel like shit. And you get anxious and nervous and angry and have this all-consuming sense of shitness surrounding you, AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHY.
At the moment, I don’t have any immediate or obvious reason to feel this way. If anything, I ought to be the happiest person on earth. I have a decent job, even if I’m not making too much money, at least I’m being respected. I have a great apartment with great roommates. I have an amazing boyfriend who I love and who loves me. I have the best family in the world, even if sometimes dysfunctional, I couldn’t imagine a better family if I tried. I have friends I can trust. And I have a life. Thank the Goddess for that.
Yet, I wake up this morning feeling like yesterday’s sponja rag, and I wrack my brains trying to figure out what happened. I obviously consulted with the inner child, who is currently well in the process of running her tears dry, and she had a hard time figuring it out as well.
As I was drinking my morning tea, staring at the cookies I couldn’t bring myself to eat, I came up with a theory. A couple of years ago, my therapist gave me a book to read. I believe it was called the “Dance of Intimacy.” I’m not sure it was this one, but maybe it was… Anyway, it said something like “If you had a significantly bad experience in June of some year, if you haven’t dealt with it, there is a good chance that these feelings will come back to haunt you at around June of the following year, and the year after that, etc.”
The only devastating experiences I can think of that happened around this time were in summer/fall of 2009. It began with my grandmother’s death in May, then Michael Jackson’s death in June, then the genetic proof that I have Myotonic Dystrophy around July, and the realization that I am about to turn 27, which is the age that I have chosen to end my life, closer to August/September. All of these were horrible experiences and they came one after the other. Blow after blow. Pow, pow, pow! Without fail, breaking me in two, then four, then eight, then a million.
Although I’ve been in therapy that year and also in 2010, I think that the visit I paid to my grandmother’s grave this past Friday made all these feelings resurface, and I’ve been feeling anxious, depressed and as angry as Hitler on a roid-rage spree.
The only solution I can think of is speaking to my therapist but she’s been sick for a while and the holidays are coming up. The full moon on my impending 29th birthday is filling me with terror, and I don’t know how I’ll get through it without my family (and especially my mom) noticing that I’m on the verge of explosion.
What I’m scared of even more is giving people the impression that I’m losing my mind, which I am not. And the last thing I want to do is scare my boyfriend away. But I don’t know how anybody can understand me if I’m not even sure what is causing this sudden outburst of infernal emotions.
My inner child is standing near the river of my inner city, watching the full moon shifting the tide, bringing up dead bodies and washing them up on the shores.
“It’s like the river is talking,” she says. “It is telling me, ‘Here are the issues you have drowned within yourself. Now deal with them’.”
Peace, love and please comfort me.