All.
There are days when my heart is fit to burst from the sheer gratitude and happiness I feel for simply being alive. I look at my daughter in wonder, and thank God for picking me to be her mother. I look at my husband and thank God for sending me on this journey of life with someone who makes me laugh, who makes me feel safe, who makes me into a better person. I look at my house and thank God for providing a kind of home for my children to grow up in that I never had.
I love those days where I am mindful of the fact that I have it all. Those are the days where life doesn't seem so impossible, and I am satisfied.
Nothing.
Most days I wake up and feel...nothing. I go through the day barely managing to keep it together, and consider it a success if I don't let the sobs escape from my chest.
My day begins way too early with my mother lecturing me, quite loudly, about what I need to do/should have done/should not have done. I feel indifferent. I have many issues with my mother, and will never raise a single one with her. My mother is the queen of write-offs. My entire senior year of college was one of the best years of my life, aside from the fact she didn't speak to me. So, I nod and agree with whatever it is she's decided to rant about for the day, but really I feel nothing. Besides, I need her. If she writes me off, I'm an orphan. I'm too scared to face life without her. So, I choose to ignore those pesky feelings building inside of me that threaten to muddle in my dysfunctional, enmeshed relationship with her.
I go to work at a job where I am treated indifferently, and I therefore am indifferent towards the job.
It is not until I get home to a husband and daughter who are genuinely happy to see me that the faintest sparks of life and light ignite inside of me. I do not come alive until 5:30 every day. Which means I am dead inside for 9 hours of the day. I don't feel angry, anger leads to action, and I have decided actions are useless for those 9 hours of emptiness. I simply feel nothing, except those moments where the sobs threaten to escape, and I am faced with the terrifying prospect of completely losing my shit.
All.
My therapist says I tried to do it all in too short an amount of time. I started grad school, got married, had a baby, bought a house, and started a new job all in less than two years. I wanted the American dream, and I got it all. My therapist also says she doesn't see the passion for life and gregarious nature in me anymore. I want to tell her that was the price of having it all.
Nothing.
I want to feel. I remember going to Chapel every Wednesday in high school and watching people moved to tears by the words we had to sing. They were
alive. I remember thinking back then that I felt nothing, and even prayed to God to ignite
something,
anything inside of me so that I could experience real
feeling.
All.
I remember one night not long after my mom and Mark split up and I broke down crying, not understanding how my life could ever be normal, not believing that I would ever feel happiness again. Eric held me in his arms, and with my face pressed into his chest he kept saying with such emotion, "I love you
so much, I am so sorry this is happening." His love got me through that day and has brought me back to life many dark days after.
I remember one of the first nights after Isabella was born, I was staring down at her in my arms and my heart overflowed, and tears streamed down my face, and I
felt. My daughter brought me to life. Sometimes she'll look at me and give me a kiss and say "Too," which is her way of saying "I love you." That one word makes my whole body feel warmed by sunshine.
I'd like for there to be more "All" days instead of "Nothing" days. I'd like to wake up in the morning and
feel. I'd like to feel alive all the time, instead of only feeling joy and love when my husband and daughter are touching my heart. Because feeling nothing all the time feels pretty lonely and isolating.
All or Nothing. Or Something.
I keep a lot of despair and sadness bottled up inside because it's not my role to be the depressed one in the family. That's my sister's role. And frankly, I already think she feels like I steal her thunder. So, I'm not taking this from her. And yet, I get so frustrated with her when she elicits empathy and support from the people I long to get it from. But I use up all of the attention paid to me by being the funny/sarcastic/ridiculous one. That's my role. And once those roles are cast, there's no switching parts. Maybe that's why I feel better when I'm with Belle and Eric. I get to be all of me, I don't have to play a part.
Or maybe I should just stop whining, because God has given me this beautiful life, and I only get one chance to make something out of it. Or maybe my meds need to be adjusted. Or maybe I need to find a way to turn those brief moments of utter joy and happiness into lasting moments of contentment and peace. Or maybe...
