Monday, February 5, 2018

So, that was 40. Huh.

When you are young and believe in things like invincibility, 40 seems so distant and far away. Not even real, it is so far from where you are and where you've imagined that you'll somehow remain. Time, though, it has a way of telling you that you are kidding yourself, and eventually those years start to catch up to you.

Age hasn't really ever been a thing that I approach with hesitation. I set a bunch of silly goals when I was young, ages I wanted to be when I'd accomplished certain things, and then life revealed just how little I knew about who I'd be, and how little those things that I thought were everything really were.

This year has been a strange one.

In my birthday post last year, I outed myself for being suicidal. Last week, talking with a friend who has been in similar places off and on, I said that I judge my current with my worst. As in, if I'm not thinking about launching myself off a balcony or fantasizing about driving off a cliff, then I must be okay.

Which is bullshit.

Just because I'm not all the way there doesn't mean I'm not there.

Just because I'm a little bit or even a lot depressed doesn't mean it isn't important enough to mention simply because I've been worse.

My current reality has me so caught up in the care and feeding of one of my children that I've forgotten how I feel about any of it. I can't do anything but get up and do the best I can for them because it is my job and I have to because lives depend on it, but I would be kidding myself if I said that I am not weary. And worn.

Exhausted is not big enough a word for how I feel, and it goes so far beyond a physical tired. I hope that when the time comes that I can let my guard down for just a little while, when I can sit down and look myself in the mirror and ask myself how I really am, that I weather that storm well.

I hope.

If nothing else, the experiences of the past year have taught me that I need to be better at following my own advice. I need to talk about it more...but that truth is laced with the unpleasant reality I've lived too many times.

Most people can't handle my truth.

They dismiss it, tell me I am overreacting. Tell me about some story they are seeking comparison for, as if my vulnerability was an invitation for them to try and convince me that they need me more than I need them.

There are reasons I don't tell many people about the things that are going on.

Valid reasons.

And even then, when I do let some people in, I often regret it immediately. Remind myself why I build those walls.

Promise myself I will keep trying to let people in, even when it backfires, because I need to do that in order to survive.

So, that was 40.

Huh.

At least it's over.

To new beginnings.

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