Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Meltdown at Camp Shingles

Although I had the first decent night's sleep last night in a week and a great phone call with a close friend at 8:30 this morning, by the time I got to my counseling appointment at noon, I was in meltdown. We did our opening meditation and I was already crying by the time she rang the closing bell.

I was fed up. Fed up with pain and itching, sure. Fed up with low energy and a numb midriff and irritability. But even more, fed up with taking care of myself. By myself. Of being responsible for me. For carrying the weight--and extra weight--of myself. I was ready to just stop and lay it all down, yet terrified to ask for help.

I'm tired of working on myself. Of facing my issues. Of being obsessed with food and terrified to put it down, terrified that I won't know what to do with myself if I do.

I'm tired of being alone in my life, and I'm terrified of connecting on a deeper level. I'm tired of feeling there's something deeply flawed in the way I relate to myself and others, a feeling that keeps me looking for an outside fix, be it alcohol, sugar, or too many nectarines, and I'd be deeply sad if I stopped moving forward.

I've cried a lot today. Then I took myself for a long walk and a half-mile from home the sky opened up and cried with me. My shingles didn't go away but somehow I felt seen.


The Lavendar Tree said...

Oh boy. Your post today hit home very hard for me. Says so many things that I feel too. I'm tired. I'm tired of pain. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of taking care of myself. I'm tired of being responsible for me...for everything. I'm tired of carrying the weight...and extra weight. I'm tired of working on me. I'm tired of being terrified. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of being scared to be with someone. I'm tired of crying. I'm just tired. But I'm not willing to give up!

G said...

Jill, thank you for sharing so honestly. You are not alone in how you feel (even though it feels like it). I can relate to your post very deeply and it struck a chord in me.

Last week, I saw an old college friend; recently widowed (in her mid-50s) she was complaining about having to now take care of the yard, because her husband had promised to take care of it when they bought the larger property -"Promised!" she yelled, and now he is gone. It was hard to find sympathy for her, as I don't know what it's like to have help with the yard, and I don't enjoy doing it. I didn't like that I couldn't find sympathy.