Anxiousness is settling in. Teela and Craig will be home in the next hour and a half. I feel like I have run out of time to be with myself, to do things, to do nothing. There is a pressure on my chest. I am going to be expected to fill role when they get home. I’ll have to be a mom. I should be cooking and playing and giving love and all I want to do is be alone. To be selfish and create the life I want, the home I want with no couch covers and cleaning up the messes of other people. Or even give myself to anyone all day. Why do I feel so selfish?
The desire to have a house in Rose Valley is still strong in me. It would be all mine. I can go there and be alone. To be alone long enough to do nothing and everything. How can I do this? Why do I want to do this?
I’ve spent my life pleasing people, being polite and thinking of others before myself. I remember having to share a bag of chips with my friends but it would be rude if I asked to have some of their chips when the roles were reversed. I almost never had a bag of chips. We didn’t have money for those kinds of things. It was very hard to share.
My dad taught me these things, to give and not take. On the opposite side my mother is a taker. She is so selfish. I feel like my mother now.
Why do I have to give everything every time? Craig doesn’t want to live in the small town so we don’t. Craig doesn’t want to live in Regina so we don’t. Craig doesn’t want to share bank account so we don’t. Craig doesn’t care for eat healthy even if it is required for my health, so we don’t. Oh the list could go on forever. Am I being too judging? Can I think of times when it was all about me? Not right now.
I feel like I am so accommodating and agreeable and giving and self-sacrificing and selfish and negative – why can’t I stop thinking this way?
Why do I have to give all of me to the point where I feel guilty taking anything for myself?
Being proper (nice, agreeable, pleasant, caring, empathetic) is socially acceptable and will make you a treasure in the eye of others. You will be liked. Being liked by people is important. Everyone loves my dad. Everyone praises him. I used to think he was god-like until I saw how miserable he was and realized how much he argued and yelled at me all the time. My dad is agreeable, helpful, pleasant, giving, self-sacrificing, etc. Everyone praises him. Everyone who knows him will only say great things about him. But look how he suffers inside.
Somehow I’ve come to believe that this is the way to be. The only way to live. And yes I can’t stand it. I want to run from people because I will have to be something.
I feel that other people are more important than me and that these people give importance to my self worth. They can raise it or lower it.
I am heading to my in-laws cabin today. It is in the middle of no-where so I will not be able to post my regular Sunlight post on Sunday so I thought I would do it now. Plus, it seems a little depressing for a Sunday post.
Here I am at the age of thirty-four and I am the living dead. I am in the bathroom. I am not sure how long I have been on the toilet or how many times I have wiped myself. I seem to keep slowly coming to the realization that I am done peeing and I reach for the toilet paper only to feel like I have done this already, and then I drift off again. How many times have I done this? I don’t search for an answer. I get up, flush and move on with my day; to lay on the floor in the living room.
I followed the path laid out to me. The path that others were on. The path that society told me to follow: I went to school; I got an education; I found a job; I got married; I bought a house; I had a baby; Then why did all of these perfect steps lead me to the carpet, struggling for each breath and feeling lost and without purpose?
I have been telling my husband when we go to bed at night that I am not sure why I am alive. I am so sad that I can not move during the day. I feel guilt for laying here but I can not get up and do anything meaningful.
“I don’t like you talking that way,” he would reply. It sounds like he is scolding me for feeling this way. His tone is sharp. He mentions to me that I should see someone, a counsellor or therapist. His work will cover the cost.
He comes home one day and tells me quietly, when Teela and I are in the sunporch finishing supper, “There are a lot of people here that need you and love you.”
I know he is talking about him and the girls but all I can think is that living for them is not enough. I have been living for them for so long and I don’t want to anymore. It is exhausting and draining me to my core.
It isn’t that I don’t love them. I do. I really do. But I have nothing more to give them. I can not cook supper for them. I can not pay attention to the words they say to me and the questions they ask of me. All I am is a shadow. If I give them much more of myself I will disappear. I don’t care about anything except for an answer as to why I am forced to get up and live this hell every day.
“I had no idea that the sun in PEI could fill me with so much grace. Even just thinking this way, that the sun in PEI could fill me with so much grace, is an unusual thought for me. I was filled with light, life and joy and as we fly home it is fading just as the humidity is leaving Teela’s hair and turning her healthy flowing curls into straight frizzy hair. I feel empty.
“All I can think about is how I had been truly living the last two weeks and didn’t notice until now. I got caught up in the passion of life and wasn’t even aware of what gift I was receiving so I couldn’t recognize what I was leaving behind as I boarded the plane in Charlottetown to come home.
“Now that I am home I feel strange. Not happy. Not that feeling not happy is anything new but this is worse. I am detached and disengaged like never before. Is this what everyone feels like after an amazing holiday in a world different from their own?
“Teela is home and I am struggling to do anything. I am struggling to be alone and that is all I want to do. I can not even think. It is like she notices that my attention is not completely focused on her and she cries out for me. I am struggling to take care of her. I am struggling to take care of me. It is all the effort I have just to feed her. I just want to be alone. I want the sun.
“While Teela’s presence creates a distraction for me I am also feeling at a loss because I can’t do anything. It is gloriously hot. The sun is shinning so brightly and we can’t be outside too long during the day because there is nowhere to cool down. We hide in the basement. The damp, cool basement. Yesterday I was on a beach smelling the ocean air, covered in red sand, listening to the waves crash the shore. I was with my sister. We were laughing. I was buying ice-cream and shopping at boardwalks. Everyday for the last two weeks I was in the sun. How can I actually be here, in a damp basement surrounded by dark brown seventies decor? I went from light to darkness in a day.”