I am anxious about my Social Security Hearing this Thursday. I am in the pit, as they say, and long to get out and make something of myself. I’m a million different people from one day to the next…..and unrecognizable to my friends and husband. I have never been one to dwell on negativity, for more than a day, if that. But I have always run from the truth, the pain, the cold and brutal realities that are hidden in the crevices of my mind. I’m not running any more, but I would like a break from it all.
In the “rooms” they call it a backlog of grief. In my room I call it family bullshit, bittersweet memories and rage. I keep giving it all to God, then taking it right back. I can’t find a therapist I would trust, and the last gal I poured my heart out to let me down, in major and minor ways. I saw her for five years and while she was a good sounding board, she never really helped me with my CPTSD. I would be halfway through a breakthrough and she would say something like, “Did I tell you my ex is dating a cow? Did I tell you she was from India and has stalked me for months?????” I would lose my train of thought, and there was no turning the conversation back to me.
I prefer to talk about anything but moi, I am an Empath and would rather listen. I feel stuck in my sweet little cottage of a home, surrounded by gardens, wildlife, friends and neighbors. Actually, it has nothing to do with the beauty of my surroundings (and I thank Abba each and every chance I get. I thank him for the miracle that is my life out in the hills of Amish country, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I praise him for meeting our needs, but at the same time with blessing us so abundantly. I have true friends, a wonderful man and supportive church family.
Alas, it is when I am alone and left to my own devices…….my anxiety keeps me busy hiking, cleaning, painting, gardening….what have you, until my body says, “please Sir, could you spare me a minute or two for the purposes of sitting my fat white ass down.?” I shower, and dress, and worship; after that I have no choice (unless I take an Ativan, or Benadryl for my allergies, and this tempts me every day.) I simply cannot be left to my own brain waves….even for a minute.
Where my mind travels through the wasteland of my childhood, (the good memories make me cry too) my narc of a sister once bit me as a child. She wasn’t even a year old when I was holding her, and she bit a hole the size of a lemon out of my underarm, and I will never forget how I was blamed for that, or how much the ensuing tetanus shot hurt, not to mention seven stiches. I miss my father, so that’s very painful, even though he died 15 years ago. I currently am obsessing over the fact that the narc kept my godchild, niece and nephew from me for ten years, simply to punish me for sobering up-I now had a productive, happy life-so she made sure she hit me in the gut-my beloveds are lost to me-how long will they think me “crazy Aunt Michele?”
I am not one to care what others think, never have been, nor will I be. I care about what my loved ones, and Jesus thinks…of course, but there have been so many lies told about me to so many people over the years? I simply can’t afford to care. We are told that we are not to be creatures of this world, but to push on for the life we have awaiting us in Heaven, with the angels and saints, the lions that lay down with the lamb, our pets and our loved ones await us. It’s not that I’m in any hurry, believe me-but I have four journals, chock full of atrocities performed by my sister-meticulously kept over the ten years I have had my heart pulled out of my chest. And on the day I go home, they will be delivered to my nieces, one by one.