It's a Celebration - I'm New to This Pt. 3

It’s almost my 10 Year Anniversary!

August 2015, I walked into a tattoo shop and got my semi-colon tattoo. Recently married, trying for a baby, I couldn’t continue in limbo. I needed to decide: would I stay, or would I go?

I chose to live.

After years of feeling, anticipating, waiting for the final act, I was going to give life a try.

As fate would have it, I didn’t even get a chance to renege. Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.

That’s it, I then lived happily ever after.

Except, by now, we should all know that isn’t true. Life continued to play in my face, but I learned how to be intentionally committed. Honestly, I was ill-prepared to prepare to live. I don’t know how else to say it. I am still, often, in disbelief how much effort it requires. It’s literally and actually, too much.

By 2018, I had two extra little people I had to show up for… every day. I was finding my best self and giving it simultaneously, with little leftover. But it was a dopamine high that kept coming. I poured all I had, and never had, into them, feeling a sense purpose for the first time. If nothing else, I was to be good to them. And if for no one else, I would be good for them. It's no secret, nor hyperbolic, to say that my children saved my life. It’s why I am so hard on myself as a mother. It’s why I go above, beyond, and further for every moment. The beginning of my tomorrows, they are the who, what, when, where, why and how I’m here.

My ex-therapist, heavy on the EX, once asked, “What makes you happy?”

“Easy! My kids.”

“And other than them?”

“IDK, probably showing up for people?”

“Not including anyone else.”

I had nothing inside to pull from. I was going from good time to good time like someone living check to check, always in an emotional deficit, wanting the pain to go away and for the person I was never allowed to be to magically show up and save me. I realized I hadn’t thought about being happy. Didn’t know her, couldn’t feel her.

I wish I could better articulate how it is in my head. The inadequacy of the words to describe the sensations, the inability to actually express what I know I should be feeling, it is a special kind of isolation. I don’t want to share with people that care about me I don’t trust them with my feelings. It’s nothing personal, I don’t really trust myself either. I recognize my emotions but simultaneously keep at bay “for my own good”. It is a disorienting situation. I also don’t want to explain to friends, that I have had great times with, even then, I am often lost in the blue. That my energy, my smile, my laughter, all come with an asterisk. It is genuine, but it isn’t complete. I always feel like I am drowning, maybe that’s why I hate the ocean.

I could feel a relapse coming in February. I knew then I was doing too much on top of feeling nothing at all. But when looked at my calendar, it was too inconvenient to allow, so I scheduled it for July.

Thankfully, miraculously, and maybe concerningly, my body listened.

Right on schedule, I have been down bad since the 1st.

In my defense, exactly how can I make time for sorting through decades of memories, mistakes and madness when camps need to be booked, work needs to be done, celebrations attended, and responsibilities executed?

I don’t.

I just get to July.

I wait until the permitted time to let a safe amount of the feels I’ve kept at bay blur my vision, catch in my throat, and put me to bed early. I withdraw, but not completely. I break enough to catch my breath, but not too much, lest I signal I’m struggling to breathe. I don’t change my routine, because stopping, even for a second, just doesn’t feel like the answer. It feels dangerous. I accept, despite my best efforts, I don’t have the answers I need and oh does that chap my ass!

10 years in, I find myself increasingly frustrated by my lack of happiness. The introduction of that expectation was like the new emotions debuting on Inside Out. My headquarters still hasn’t learned how to make blended core memories. I never saw myself as high-functioning. I still don’t, although I fit the description to a T, because internally I don’t feel like I’m functioning at all. On my best days, I am barely getting by, hardly out-running the less healed version of myself.

So when I say I am new to this, it specifically means, new to living. Happiness, as a state of being, still eludes me. I am brand new to even thinking it is important to my existence and now must define it without a personal reference. I have settled on it including peace. Maybe when I’m no longer at war with myself, or feel less at war with the world, I can get at least that one part down.

I imagine a quiet mind and body that embraces rest. I would say my heart wouldn’t hurt, but I have a feeling even my happiest includes some pain. A little razzle dazzle.

Hope? Do happy people have that? It’s such a foreign concept to me, but I will put it on the list.

I know it exists inside me, even if I can’t access it on demand. That is why I can create it, share it, and amplify it. It radiates from me, effortlessly, despite it all. I don’t know if any of it this ever be easier, progress is slow, just know I’m trying.

And that’s all I can do.