How Did I Do This to Myself?

I’m trying to write my way out of a lot of things, and honesty has become important in that journey. I somehow created a mess in my life, in so many ways. I know that much of it is simply my fault. I also know that there were things which happened that were beyond my control, and some of those things remain beyond it today. I love that Serenity Prayer because it focuses on knowing the difference between what can be controlled, what cannot be controlled, and knowing the difference. When you know the difference, you can put your attention where it will do some good. At least that’s the theory. I find it easier said than done personally, each part of it.

I know I’m not completely honest with anyone, even myself. I know that because I do catch myself in lies little and big. I don’t mean when I just tell a good story and “embellish,” either. I have Celtic ancestry and live in Texas. Of course I embellish! Telling a story in a vivid fashion is an art form, a gift, a real joy. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about other things. There are, of course, the white lies that I tell to try to stay out of trouble or get out of trouble. You know, when you tell them at the motor vehicle place that no, of course you haven’t driven your unregistered car that is in the parking lot as you speak. Yep. I’ve done that sort of lying. Lies of omission and commission both. I have lied about things having to do with personal issues and even with work. At times it was out of fear, believing that it wasn’t just necessary, but essential for me to do so. Doesn’t make it ok. And, as I tell patients, if you lie, you hear it. You know it. And, there goes your trust in yourself. You either become semi-delusional like some of my patients, believing your own lies more and more or else you live with the fact that you cannot trust yourself to be honest, especially in the crunch times. You have to live with the knowledge that trusting yourself is just a little bit dangerous.

Lying does a weird thing to the mind. It makes it hard to know if what I think and feel are the truth. Is my life really a mess because I’m a horrible person? Probably not. It “feels” true, but it’s not true. Is part of the mess “my own damn fault,” like the lyrics from Margaritaville? Most likely. So, how do I figure this out? How do I know that what I can control and what I can’t? Can I really control illness? I know that the fibromyalgia grew out of a predisposition to something like that induced by chronic stress. Can I change that? Perhaps some of it, but I can make it worse by turning that into a stress, too.

This post is difficult to write. I’m unsure of my direction, of my purpose, my goal, but I want to write, to reach out, to find some answers. So, I’ll slog away and share my ramblings with the world. Lucky world, huh? Maybe it’s a good thing it’s a tiny little blog that barely anyone reads. So, shhhhh. This one is fine just sneaking past everyone. Maybe. Or maybe it’s the one I need read the most. Who knows.

It’s one thing to have somehow covered myself up in fat. Sounds atrocious, and yet that’s somehow what I seemed to have done. I look around where I live, and I seem to have covered myself up not just with “stuff,” much of which I love, but yucky, dirty stuff. I don’t know how it got this bad. I want to go put a bunch of stuff by the curb since a charity is coming tomorrow to pick up stuff from my neighborhood, but I’m tired. I don’t know why I’m tired. No patients today because of cancellations, and only did a bit of paperwork. Ran around with Gwynn, showing her things I want to do with my bedroom and every other room it seems. Oh, and took Lilith, finally, to get her geriatric puppy blood work done. After three years of wanting to do it. Procrastinate much? Luckily, she’s doing great, but I can’t believe I didn’t get that done sooner. Maybe just the cost I had to pay today was enough to wipe out my energy. In any event, none right now. So, no real work accomplished, and an opportunity to make more progress and get rid of some things in a decent, recycling type way passing me by.

If you knew me 15 years ago, you’d be shocked at how awful my house is. People say theirs is bad, but it’s not. They really don’t know. Mine is getting close to what you see on Hoarders, that show. I know that a little over a decade ago, I was out of work and trying to find a path to a new career. I did that, but I ended up working crazy hours. I even worked at more than one job at a time. That started it. Maybe it started it. It pushed my body over the limit. I think there was a bit of the fibro there when I taught school. I remember days when my arms were just suddenly weak, too weak to do what I normally could do then. I hated my entire life much of the time. I was secluded, hiding away after Pete left. I worked at a job I hated. Then, I finally got the strength to quit.

In the past decade, working so much and trying to create something for myself that I didn’t have before in my work life, I really tore myself up. I developed full blown fibro, not the kind that was gonna go away easily. And, yet I had to keep pushing or I’d lose what little I had. Then, problems with the mortgage and other money pressures just loaded on all of that. I was more than a bit stressed all the time, and getting sicker and sicker, so there was less and less I could do. I love the actual work I do now. Not the paperwork, office part which I now suck at, but the therapy? I love doing that. Truly love it. I just tore myself up getting to this point in my career. I don’t make the money I need to make because of the lack of organization and because I don’t know how to build a business, but I don’t hate life all day every day when I’m at work like I used to do. I just blew out my nervous system and have fibromyalgia now.

So, here I sit. Trying to push through. Trying to rearrange my life yet again. Trying to make all the pieces fit.Trying to have a home and a life into which I can invite others with ease, trying to build that part of myself and my life while improving my business, too. My best friend, a bundle of energy, has moved back and is willing and able to help. But, it seems the more little tasks we do, the worse it gets. I sort of knew it would get worse before it got better. Damn. I hate all those sayings. I really do.

I don’t know how to dig out of this crap. I have a house full of stuff, much of which could/would be nice if I could take care of it. A lot of it is family stuff, stuff I want to keep. There is stuff I bought to turn it into my “dream home.” There is stuff all over stuff.

I sleep on an air mattress in the living room because I got to where I couldn’t stand my bedroom. I felt trapped in there. Something just wasn’t “right” about it. Sounds so weird, but I just would not sleep there.

What am I even talking about? Do you know, cause I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’m confused and overwhelmed and tired, so tired. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to be. Let me let you go. What an idiotic blog, but I promised to try to tell the truth. Not that I won’t edit and rewrite, but I’ll leave the crap. I really will. It’s the only way to sort through it all.

I dance in chaos and feel the pulse of creation swirling within me. I am creating myself anew, giving birth to a self that is yet unrealized.

~ by Janice Holladay on December 1, 2011.