My last post was harsh. I get that.
Sometimes I feel so sorry for myself I can barely offer myself a tissue to mop up the snot. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by that sorrow. Sometimes I am too angry at myself and the world to remember to cry.
Yesterday I was an island. Today, after letting all that go, I can remember the people who have helped. The fourth group.
The fourth group listens. The fourth group wants to understand and failing that, they will settle for being the shoulder I can lean against. The fourth group has said, when there was nothing right to say, the right thing at the right time.
The fourth group must exist outside of the space-time continuum because that's how impossible it is to not upset, offend, or anger me these days. But they exist, maybe in some mystery of quantum physics and parallel universes. The fourth group exists.
Sweet Pete.
To be worried the way I am worried is to all the time feel like something heavy is sitting on my chest, something tight is constraining my heart. My lungs have forgotten what a deep breath is. I am always on the verge of panic, of flight or fight. I live in a world fueled by adrenaline and raw nerves.
I am edgy. I exude edgy. If there were not an edge, I would have fallen off a long time ago. I wish the edge came with guard rails.
But some people say things--calm things, compassionate things, gentle things--that make the edge a little softer. The nicest thing they say is that Secret Lulu is lucky to have me for a mom and that I am doing the best job that can be done.
If it is a lie, it is the prettiest lie I have ever heard.
Other things:
- She's going to be how she's going to be and you're going to do what you have to do
- She has improved so much already, things will only get better
- Maybe it will always be a little hard, but you will handle it and she will be fine
- It feels like a big deal now, but it's not that big of a deal
- Let's go see a movie
I am mad at the world. I'd extend that anger to the entire universe but, really, I just don't have the energy. So I find a reason for my anger in every little thing. If no one says anything stupid today, I am more than willing to dust off the chestnuts of yesterday, last week, last January.
Sometimes I am so tired of volleying between fear and anger and thinking, thinking, thinking that I have to sing a loud song in my head over and over to keep the thinking out. The mantra of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt is not exactly high spiritualism but it is easy to remember and it evokes not a single melancholy feeling.
Most people, in reality, probably fall into the fourth group. Or at least the fifth group, which is the group of people who haven't said a single thing because either they haven't noticed or they don't even know us.
Today I can remember that the fact that I feel like the world is made up of idiotic jerks who have their heads up their a*s, just because that's exactly how I feel, doesn't change the fact that the vast majority of people mean well.
Most people are even great.
I just have to keep reminding myself that just because I'm viewing the world through crap-colored glasses, doesn't mean the world is actually full of crap.
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