Monday, November 07, 2011

a breathing soul

"The feelings are real, but they are based on something that isn’t. Shadows. Remnants. Untruths. That’s what it’s like to hear a lie in your head.

We carry around those fragments of untruth with us everyday. And when things happen all in a row, it dislodges the crazy and even though we know the truth, the lie feels more true at the time. We have to choose what we’ll believe, then. It doesn’t feel very romantic or mystical to say it that way, choose what you’ll believe. But I do believe we have a choice, even when it all goes wrong."

--Emily Freeman, Chatting at the Sky

At the end of this post, Emily asks what unleashes our crazy. And I'd have to say, Life. The same things that unleashed Emily's crazy--laundry piled up, dirty baseboards, and then, that proverbial straw--that's what bowls me over EVERY TIME.

As the song says, "She can handle any tragedy that happens, but not little things like this." I can deal with the cancer, the sick babies of friends. Certainly it affects me. It saddens me, and I worry and pray and think on these things. The truly hard stuff of life contributes to the emotional thinness.

But nothing knocks me flat like when my 12-year-old is a total butt after I've just done something nice for her. Or there's no milk. Or, perpetually, when I am not sure what to wear to work. Or, worse--when all of those things happen in one day.

In counseling we've talked about catastrophizing--when I take a little thing and make it much more of a big deal than it really is. And I know I do that to a point. I mean, really, what's the worst that could happen with no milk? I eat something other than cereal. And not having milk is not equivalent to cancer; I understand that. But it's the pile-up that gets me. It's this, on top of that, on top of this, and it all just crashes down and leaves me overwhelmed and incapacitated.

And did I mention I'm pregnant? I told Halle the other day that I'm dealing with all the same hormonal stuff right now that she is. So there.

My triggers are the stuff of life. And that's what my depression looks like. Struggling to deal with the little things, to make the choice to believe truth, to gain some perspective and reign in the anger/tears/frustration/tiredness.

To breathe. Just to breathe in the midst of the crazy. But I think I'm slowly learning how to do that--and how to pick up the pieces when I don't.

1 comment:

Kate Conner said...

I just read this this afternoon and thought, "Yes!" I often say that I clean to keep my marriage afloat. Not that my husband minds, but I become a frustrated, emotional, snappy, selfish, melodramatic, whiner when laundry (and dishes, and dust, and clutter, and toys, and bills, etc.) are piled up. Dorothy Parker wrote, "It's not the tragedies that kill us; it's the messes." Thanks for being honest! We will survive. Ha!