Polar Bear in a Snowstorm

So I was looking through an old blog and came across this post. I wrote this years ago.... It's interesting. I remember feeling this way pretty much all the time. Like I was too tired, too worn, too fuzzy to move forward. I wrote it in a time when I wasn't really battling with any real emotional things. It was just life that was wearing me out. So. Very. Tired. I know why now. And I don't feel like this anymore (or well, most days anyway). I remember distinctly telling my doctor; "Look. I just know something is wrong. Other people can get get up in the morning and do normal life things and still have energy. I don't. Haven't for a long time." Heh. There's a diagnosis for that. And although I'd always suspected it was some sort of manifestation of chemical depression, turns out, it was just two little asshole letters: R.A. 

Polar Bear in a Snowstorm

Some days it's hard doing it on your own

On days like today, I just don’t know which way to face. I try to face to the north. To me, the north is looking up. Forward. I guess because on a map, north is up. It seems optimistic. If I face south, I’m looking down. But the beaches and sunshine and beauty are south. The places I’d like to be now, instead of where I am. The east has the sunrise and the west has the sunset. So I guess north is really a disadvantage. All the things I love are other directions. In any case, I’d like to be looking up.

I’m not.

I feel like I’m drowning in this cesspool of everyday things. Why does it seem like everyone else can handle these things and I cannot? Wake up, go to work, work all day, come home, cook dinner, go to a baseball game, watch TV, go to sleep. It all seems so simple.

It’s not.

I wake up feeling yesterday. That first waking moment, I’m confused. Every morning, I’m confused. What day is it? What am I supposed to be doing today? Where are the children and have I missed something already? What will my life be like today? Which hat do I need to put on first? Who am I this morning? Which Shannon? WHICH ONE?

Then comes the panic. Funny how I should wake up every morning in a panic. I reach for the phone or the appointment book or the kids school calendar. I reach to see what I’ve missed. What I’ve dropped. Who I’ve let down now. I look around to see if anyone is beside me and listen to see if my kids are making morning noises. I look at the clock. The clock. Every morning, without fail, I look at the clock and wish for it to rewind. I want more time. More sleep. More, more, more. Please. Just a little more.

I lay back down. Always. Why? Because that’s when the air around me gets really thick. Thick, soupy, oppressive air. It pushes down on my shoulders and legs, my hands and feet. It pushes and I concede. For those few minutes in the morning while I’m wishing at the clock, I let it hold me down. I just give in to the crushing, oppressive air and I lay there. I let it win. I let it hold me down. I wish for more time just to lay there and let it hold me down. I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of trying to beat it. I just want to stay there.

I can’t.

The thoughts of everything that is my reality bustle around me. I feel like I’m inside a TV with no reception. I am behind all those fuzzy white dots somewhere. I’m the image you can’t see. And all those fuzzy white dots are all things I need to care about, need to do, need to accomplish, need to say, feel. They’re swirling and churning and buzzing. I’m drowning under them. And the noise makes a pain in the back of my head and I want to turn it off. It’s a swarming mass, like gnats or fruit flies, hitting me in the face and blurring my everything. I catch little snippets of all of them as they pass by my ears. All at once yet one at a time. And I just lay down and wait for them to devour me.

They try.

And the urgency sets in. As much as I want to give up, I cannot. I think, every morning, that I could lay there and let it all just take over if not for the children. I must get up. I must work. I must eat. I must gather all of my eggs and begin juggling because I must maintain this life for my children. I must feed them and feed myself to stay alive so I can feed them. I must give them everything. I must maintain. I must. I must. I must.

And I get up and I go on. And I take ibuprofen to ease the ache of the world pushing down on me. And I look around for someone who can understand. Someone who can help. Someone who can turn off the TV. Someone who can help me juggle the eggs so that none of them break. And I drop a few here and there and they break.

But I go on