Like, really?

I don’t know how to describe what I am thinking and feeling right now. It doesn’t ring like the feeling of depression, but I am definitely feeling sad. It doesn’t feel like anger, but I feel hostile. I could shed tears at any moment, they are crowding at the back of my eyelids. But, I am not for certain if it is sadness, or anger, or why I could cry. What emotion fills the tears I now hold back remains a mystery to me. My hands tremble, more slightly than they have been known to in the past, but it feels stronger to me. My mind races, but I cannot remember what thoughts I have. I am physically exhausted, but I feel restless.

I have to keep writing, it is keeping me just distracted enough to seem just fine. Perhaps I should try and lighten the subject matter, to entice a less melancholy feel to my words.

But these are MY words, and in this moment I feel them intensely.

Heh, I ALWAYS feel EVERYTHING intensely, and I fucking feel it FOREVER.

That has never proven to benefit my worrisome nature, not in the least little bit, not ever. Yeah, I know you’re thinking “what about love” or fill in love for any other positive life-worth-living sensation. Nope, my intensive emotional response to literally everything that happens to me in my life has fucked me over numerous times, on a daily basis. Take, for example, the love I have for my children. When I say that I love my children more than anything else that exists in the entire score of the universe, I mean that literally.

. But, translate that love into anxiety, and literally panic , over common motherly fears and concerns. Have to wake up an hour before your children in the morning so that you can calm yourself down immediately when you wake up because the first thing you think of is that you are leaving two of your children someplace else all day, and it takes you 20 minutes to get to them , if you speed. Than then quickly go over your plans you have made out for each imaginable tragedy possible (tornado, earthquake, school shooting, terrorist attack, family death, skinned knee, zombie apocalypse etc.)

Yeah, I think of it all.

And, god forbid, I oversleep then those nervous and anxious feelings are so hard to wind down, when they come rushing at me, even before my first cup of coffee. It’s hard not be snappy, and more short with the morning routine.

And on mornings like that surviving the guilt combined with the usual anxiety is literally, tiring.

I suppose it would be hard for someone to understand, if it has never been felt first hand, what it is like, to live from day to day constantly filled with worry. To have a nervousness that never, fully, subsides. Imagine feeling like the new kid in school, that joined in the middle of the year, transferred from a homeschool, in Antarctica, from the future. (meaning imagine feeling like the most out of place human being to have ever been created all the time, no matter who you are with) ALL THE TIME.

Try to put yourself in the place of a person who craves a closeness with others, friendship, and a genuine mutual desire of interest and care between themselves and others, but never manages to accept it without suspicion and doubt. Could you even begin to comprehend what a torture that must feel like? To be a person who wants, so badly to accept whole heartedly, the apparent genuine love being shown to them, but cannot escape the persistent worry and doubt. To find yourself trapped in a cycle of remembering and reacting, without premeditation, and to know that if you cannot stop you will be the cause of what you fear most.

You winding up completely alone, having driven everyone away from you.

But how? How can you completely control it? I suppose, maybe one day, I will be able to share that with you. Unfortunately, right now, I can only tell you that, some days, the worst days, it feels like having a piece of hell trapped inside of you.

I try, and I often succeed, to make my most bad days more calm than they once were. My days are filled with my children, maintaining a sense of stability is not optional. Simple as that. They have seen me in moments I wish they hadn’t, and I’m not proud of that. I have made it a priority to keep that from happening, and I have worked hard at making that reality. It is just the truth of the matter that they are growing up with a mother that just so happens to have been diagnosed with a personality disorder (Borderline Personality Disorder, Generalized Panic Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, and (literal) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder)

I cannot say that it does not affect my parenting, obviously that would be total bullshit. I will say, however that I have worked hard at making it a more positive thing in their lives. I will admit that I have sheltered them from the uglier side of living with this. I have outright lied to my kids numerous times when mommy couldn’t hold back tears (luckily, I am a notoriously clumsy person and stubbed toes and banged heads are actually a common thing). As I have said, they have seen me at moments I am not proud of. I have taken witnessed emotional moments, and explained that its ok to cry sometimes, and that sometimes people get angry, and that its ok to feel anything that you feel, and its ok to think something different, or like things no one else does, or just….be different. My children are very empathetic humans, that’s no lie. I do believe that is because I have allowed them to feel, any way they want and in any circumstance they want. And I am trying to teach them it’s not always what you feel but how you express it that is important.

I’m trying to learn that too.