Thursday, July 19, 2012

Me Too

I'm not a very sentimental girl.  Other than with my husband, I don't talk about "my feelings" a lot.  In non-blog life, that is ;-)

In real life, if you ever actually hear me complaining and bitching, it's not a hugely important issue.  

I avoid hugely emotional issues like the plague.  I check out.  Totally check out.  I get very, very quiet.  I don't want to be talked to.  About anything.  But especially the issue at hand.  At least until the acute phase is over.  Once I have let it sink in, I can either talk myself down, or I check out even further if it is something I just really cannot handle.  

It happened when my husband was diagnosed with MS.  I dealt with it in the acute phase.  When it first happened.  I went into mega-driven/manic Aimee mode.  Found out all I could about MS.  Went to all the doctor's appointments.  Held his hand.  Cried with him.  But then.  

Then. 

I checked out.  For almost a whole year.  I numbed myself so emotionally that I truly did not care about anything.  My usually rabidly frugal self no longer cared.  Chris wanted to buy a new truck.  I would have otherwise been very hesitant about something like that.  I shrugged my shoulders and said "whatever."  Didn't care.  

I didn't want to talk to anyone.  I wanted no one to talk to me.  I wouldn't talk to my mom on the phone.  I didn't blog.  I was rarely on Facebook.  

Numb and mute.  Gone.  Totally absent.  

I didn't realize how bad it was until a couple of really "in my face" kind of things happened that snapped me out of it.  Today was yet another of those things.  

The past month or so has been kinda stressful.  Nothing huge, really.  Not each thing individually.  But all of them piling on top of each other kind of puts me squarely in the "go ahead and fucking kick me while I'm down whydoncha?" mindset.  

Chris is out of town for a couple of weeks teaching a class.  He's already beyond stressed because the Army is smoking crack.  I'm trying to do everything in my power to prop him up and keep him laughing.  Even if it involves shamelessly allowing him to sexually objectify me in lascivious ways. 
And then another thing happened last night.  And that was the last straw.  I was numb.  Woke up this morning.  Dealt with the acute phase.  Came to terms with realities, knowing I cannot call Chris and tell him this when there is nothing he can do about it.  Found out once again how amazing my baby boys are.  And laid down in my dark bedroom on my cool sheets and fluffy pillow.  And then my mom called.  

I was so close to not answering it.  I just needed to be alone.  Wanted to be alone.

Or so I thought. 

I answered it.  And we talked.  And I fell apart.  Just fell apart.  And that is when I found out how bad my stone cold reaction to emotional situations really is.   I vocalized it.  Put it in words.  All that I have written here.  I've never analyzed it before.  Never talked about the fact that I can't talk about things.  That I am afraid of fear.  That I go through extreme lengths to avoid showing emotions to anyone but my husband.  And so, as my mom, for the millionth time, talked me down off the ledge, I put it all into words. 

And her response?  "Yep..... yep..... yep....."  She is my mother.  She knows all of this and more.  She sees it when I struggle.  She hears it when I am silent.  She feels it when I don't want to.  

And then she said, "Yet you write about all of these things on your blogs.  Do you notice that?  You will talk about anything there.  All the things you won't talk about with anyone else.  You will blog about it.  I am so glad you have that."

Me too. 

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7 comments:

  1. Aren't our moms just so fucking amazing? Aren't your sons just so fantastically raised? Like everything else you've been through - you'll get through this. You're a rockstar. You're MY rockstar.

    I think it's kind of normal that the worst of things we go through we keep to ourselves. We clam up about them. And putting it out here, on a blog? It's still a safe mode of sharing. It's like make believe... It's not like sharing with a real living and breathing person who can stick out their hand and place it on your shoulder opening your floodgates.

    You'll get through this. (Just thought I'd say it again, because, I like to repeat myself)

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    1. I'm pretty sure that if the two of us ever hung out, something would catch on fire. You rock in ways I can only imagine.

      And yes. A safe mode. Exactly. If I were to have explained all this in a face-to-face conversation, I wouldn't have made it through the whole thing. I would have broken down somewhere between the first and second word. And that kind of emotional toll exhausts me. Physically and mentally. It makes me feel out of control and inadequate. To write it is to put it out there and walk away. And then I get to come back here and read that other people have felt the same way. And that other people actually give a shit about me.

      That is the best. THE. BEST.

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  2. It's so much easier to set your jaw and grind your teeth to keep it all together for the sake of making sure your world still spins on schedule, in the proper direction. And blogging works because it's on OUR terms. No one is asking questions. We're just blurting and vomiting all the crap and people respond or they don't and we acknowledge that or we don't but it's mostly one-sided interaction on OUR TERMS.

    I'm going to echo Marie here, and I've really only "known" you a very short time, but I have confidence that you'll weather this storm. I remember a post you wrote not long ago about what an ass-kickin little chick you are, how you took control and you made yourself strong and awesome and never stopped. It might've been a Friday Runbabble. Either way, that stuck with me.

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    1. Oh yes. The beauty of the one-sided conversation. No back-talking. No interruptions. No devil's advocates. Just an open and willing receptacle of blogvomit. It's like a kid catching her momma in the bathroom. Captive audience. The perfect time to talk to her about EVERYTHING she ever wanted to talk about in her whole life, EVER. Unfortunately, it works that way with sons and their momma, too.

      I didn't run yesterday. I attempted and failed. I am going to run now. Because if I don't, I will go crazy. And will wind up publishing the words to I Am The Walrus as my Friday Runbabble post. Not good.

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  3. I hope whatever you are going through, will become smaller and smaller every day. Whenever I find myself in that type of situation, I do either one of three things, curl up in a ball and cry until I can't cry anymore. Or distance myself from everyone who actually cares about me. And I write. That has saved me, more times than I actually care to admit. Chin up!

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    1. Writing is the best therapy I have ever found. In the whole history of ever. I'd be lost and constipated without it. Hell, I already felt better after writing this. Which, of course, didn't stop me from an overly chemical-induced sleep. Of course not ;-)

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