Sometimes, there are too many choices for me to function well. Today, I was already spent at 9:47 am. What should I be doing? What do I need to focus on? Why can’t I do all the things that need done? How do I even choose what to do? Will I fail if I pick the wrong thing? Can I fail? Surely, some things should take priority over others. But what? Why am I like this? Should I push through it? Will I hurt myself if I try? Should I rest instead? Have the last few days been difficult? Why don’t I know if they have or not? Why can’t I feel things? Is it normal to be numb all the time? Am I ok or in pain? Or stressed? Why don’t I know? Shouldn’t I know? That seems like something people are usually aware of. And on and on and on. My mind is racing, but my body is locking up and shutting down. Dora will probably have to do quite a bit of work today, pulling me back to reality over and over. Let’s see how things go, I guess.
One of the worst things about having my cocktail of mental illness/being me is that I can’t control when I hurt people. I mean, I suppose that’s probably true for everyone, but this morning, it wasn’t a matter of me being careless and saying something cruel. Instead, I got thrown off, and started melting down within the first 20 minutes of being awake.
Two impossible situations stood before me and I needed to merge them but couldn’t. Time passed. I was stressing out and hurting The Flutenist, and I knew it, and I got more angry at myself and more ashamed of being caught in this struggle at all, and I got more paralyzed and more frantic and…
It was bad.
Sometimes, stress can empower us- give us extra energy (more blood flow), extra clarity (more oxygen to the brain), and more motivation (tension fuels action). For me, there are days when all of those processes work, but I can’t find an outlet. The energy and tension funnel inwards, my body shuts down, and my mind just becomes a whirlpool of rapid, frantic thoughts.
Nothing gets done. I know I’m stuck but I don’t know how to get out. Or if I can.
But it’s internal; no one but me can affect it or communicate that it’s happening. But I don’t know what to do!
So I almost made him late to work today and I sent him an email while he was at work, explaining everything that had been running through my mind. (I usually regain writing before speech, so it’s my go to response.) I wanted him to know that I knew that I was hurting him and making things worse for him and that I took that seriously. I don’t know why.
It’s been a few hours and I can’t see how that could have helped anything.
I’m so stupid.
Yeah- today has been very bad in terms of self-talk. I’m back-sliding and I hate it but I don’t know what to do. I just!
I wish I were normal.
Or that I could tell where my depression stops and where I start.
Or that I knew what I was capable of.
Everything, every tiny thing, is this epic struggle between being too hard on myself and not pushing myself to grow. I never know whether I’m doing it right or not.
When things stack
On top of each other
On top of me
I am smothered
Until the pressure is critical
And I catch fire
Now I lay in the ashes
And wait to reform.
A pathetic phoenix.
Disclaimer: We haven’t started Dora’s official service dog training yet. We are still in the application phase. However, after all of the research and preparation I’ve done so far, I feel like I understand a few of the basics. For example, your dog can only learn to respond to your emotional cues if you practice those behaviors, just like verbal commands, just like learning tricks, just like almost all training goals.
So we were just outside for the 5th potty trip of the day (Dora peed but still hadn’t pooped). We came back inside. Within 10 minutes, she’s crying and poking at the leash. Dora only pokes at the leash when she really needs to go out. Cold ears and all, I had to bundle back up and head out. We went to one of Dora’s preferred spots. She finally finished her business after 6 trips, and I dragged her back to our home.
Child coming home from school? No. Go inside. Trash in the road? No. We’re going inside. Weird smells? No. Go inside. Geese flying around? Don’t care. Inside. Neighbor’s dog outside? JUST GO INSIDE! Screams. Pulls hard on leash/harness. Both inside. Door shut and locked. And I stood there, pressed up against the door, just breathing.
A nose touches my gloved hand, and I remember: I need to be training her now. She can tell that I’m not doing well, and I need to be interacting with her so that she learns to keep doing this.
I sit down and start talking to Dora. I pet her and apologize for being rougher than I’d like. I take off our gear (gloves, boots, harness, leash, coat), and I just start crying. Dora licks my face and I manage to praise her and pet her for doing it. I sob, she licks me, and I ruffle her ears and tell her that she’s a good girl. We do it again. And again. Until I don’t have any sobs left inside.
It is such and odd thing for me at this early stage: allowing myself to experience my feelings so they don’t end up trapped inside and remembering to interact with my dog, teaching her little by little that if she comes to me when I’m sad, I will pet her, and love on her, and say nice things to her.
It’s weird, being the caretaker who teaches her dog and the cared for who benefits from her dog’s care. Both roles are true, and it makes this a delicate partnership, held in balance through our affection for one another, which we’ve built through tug of war, walks, all of our outings, and just living life together.
I can do this. I don’t need to be perfect. I don’t need to have exclusively good days. Bad days are useful too. It will be alright.
I’ve been in a bad state since this morning- about 8 consecutive hours. I had to buy lunch to be sure I would eat.
I used the energy I had recovered this afternoon to call the doctor’s office again and follow up on this morning’s phone call. That choice knocked the wind out of me, but it was still the right one. I picked the one task that needed to be done today, that needed to be done by me, and I made sure that it happened.
But we are coming up on dinner, and I can’t manage an appetite or cooking. In a few hours, I’ll need to get The Flutenist from work, but I shouldn’t be driving right now.
I just called my brother and asked for help.
I’m not sitting here alone this time, crying in the dark, not eating, and just pretending to be ok. I called for help because it’s important to me that I make it through this AND take care of myself at the same time.
With the last shreds of my energy, I reached out for help, and help is coming. It’s going to be ok.
I took Dora out for every single bathroom trip today, from 6 am through now. It’s a 15 hour shift so far. We also went for a lengthy walk with this awful hill along the path (good for me but hard to handle).
I’m tired. I had to reschedule plans with a friend today because I couldn’t handle it.
I wanted a fully trained dog. I didn’t want to have this extra stress on top of what I already carry. But for many reasons, here we are.
It will be ok, but tonight, it’s just too much. So my invisalign trays are out and I’m going to just eat some cookies.