Life is good, it’s great. My ankle has healed from the reconstructive surgery I had 9 weeks ago. I’m sleeping again. My energy is up to the point where, after years, I redecorated my room and now love it. Bright colors, white billowing curtains, an awesome rug, it’s so happy. My surgeon fully cleared me, and I went on my first walk with my adorable dog, post op, yesterday. Neuropsychiatry and neuropsychology have piqued my interest and I’m devouring books on the topics. My faith is growing stronger, and I’m back to talking to God daily.
I feel so empty. With all of that in the last paragraph, I feel bad. Is depression again? Numbness? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I’m struggling with not abusing Vistaril (Atarax). My psychiatrist, for obvious reasons, won’t prescribe anything harder. I can relax when I take a few, my brain slows to a pace where I’m not overthinking everything. I can’t tell my therapist, my psychiatrist. My therapist is new, I’ve only seen her twice. The last one started canceling on me over 50% of the time. That’s just ridiculous.
Everyone else invades my thoughts. I keep comparing myself to them. What a horribly stupid thing to do, I’m fully aware. Small groups are wonderful, I truly believe the lifeblood of the church. I love and hate mine with such passion. Those women are so sweet, so caring, so loving. It’s so obvious I’m the odd duck out there. They all have wonderful, fulfilling careers. Due to my surgery, I had to quit what I considered my perfect nanny job. Adorable kids, sweet parents, the best hours. Now, I’m a pet sitter. Not a bad gig, but sure doesn’t pay the bills and absolutely not a job to blink for.
Yes, I know I need to give myself grace. I have multiple, serious illnesses that are treatable but not curable. I work my ass off to keep myself healthy. Two different types of therapies every week. I’m med compliant and never skip psychiatrist appointments. I finally got in with a gastroenterologist center that’s nationally known and have an appointment next week. You automatically see a nutritionist while you’re there, which I’m greatly looking forward to. I’m even back to exercising and have been losing weight. I should be proud of everything I’ve accomplished. Last year at this time, I was strung out on Benzos and, unbenounced to me, getting ready to enter the hospital due to it all. I hadn’t worked in years.
But I still feel so empty. My chest hurts. If only I could cry (Ha, I went to a bar a couple of nights ago and was practically attacked by some guy I’d never met before, because I can’t show my feeling. He only knows about PTSD and assumed I have it and, unfortunately, has no concept of any other mental health problems. Do not get into an argument with me if you don’t know your shit. I’m going t run circles around you.). I love my church, Sunday school class, bible study, and small group. When I go to any of those I always have to fight the feelings of being alone, empty. Yes, I’m in a class with other singles that are my age. Everyone seems to be in a relationship, are pursuing someone or being pursued. If it’s not that, they have really close friends. I can easily go, get a couple of hi’s and a hug or two, and then sit down without anyone really noticing. Last time I went, I tried to join a couple of conversations before, feeling defeated, sitting down. I was at an empty table. Did my small group sit with me? No. That made me feel shitty. They just didn’t see me? I never asked. Luckily, my table filled up and pleasantries were exchanged with me. Should I say something? The thought plagued me for a week. I eventually asked why I’m not invited to anything I’m not exaggerating on that one. I had set up the rule that during small group we only talk about events all of us are invited to. Of course that doesn’t happen. “You’re going to be invited to things now that you’re healed. Everyone is ready for you to be back.” The thing is, I’ve been back and haven’t been invited. There was a game night last Saturday. It was talked about at small group and at the bar this week. Wow, that makes me feel so welcomed and included. If you’re ready for me to come back, wouldn’t you invite me to events so I can actually come back? I’m sure I’m overthinking things here. I mean that’s my number one awesome quality.
I just feel lost. I really want a few mg of Xanax, a blunt, and a couple beers. Ha! Is that too much to ask?