Devastated

 I am completely wrecked right now and I have no idea how to start to put myself back together. I'm not sure what shifted, where I went wrong, what's missing. I cannot get my head right and I'm trying so hard to figure it out. 

I'm doing all the things for a reset. I'm trying to pull back, write, straighten my head, workout, run, walk, go into nature, get out of my fucking head but I can't. 

Obsessive thoughts are rough. I keep circling around and around and there's no way to stop it. 

I'm not even sure how it happened. Was I manipulated? Or was I being manipulated? Why did I sink so far down a mind fuck rabbit hole that I got so turned around. Is it the stress that's beating me down? Desire for someone to protect me? Want for attention? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can't stop thinking about what ifs and questioning why I do the things that I do. Wondering where I should go from here. My mind has created this entirely complete fantasy and I realize it's not real but I'm still stuck in it. Is it the tension from not knowing? Or is it something else. 

I feel like I'm unraveling. How do I stop and put myself back together? Can I stop and put myself back together? I'm pushing just a little bit to see where I could go, the feedback has been minimal which means it is all in my head. And would I even want to make any big changes right now. Am I just self-sabotaging? What is missing that I am creating alternative worlds in my head? What am I trying to escape? Or is it about something else?

Church Loss

 It's the quiet light blue time just before the dawn where the crickets and cicadas are the only ones up and causing a racket. The slow swoosh of the Sunday early morning cars is quiet and they don't even hint at a hurry. I am awake, struggling to quiet my mind and I realized there is an overwhelming grief I cannot shake. 

After 2020, I was very hesitant to go back to church. The loudest voices of those who opposed my viewpoints on the whole -do something that minimizes risk to others- seemed to be from church goers. I'm not sure if that's just because they like opposition or believed the right-wing rhetoric or don't like being told what to do or what. But it was frustrating that people who are supposed to be all about God could be so hateful and not care about others. So it left a bad taste in my mouth about the church

But then I thought about raising kids up in the church and I want a community, so I started to pack the kids up and go. 
I loved the people. I loved the slow pace and talking, sharing about everyone's week, coffee, and seeing my family. The kids loved having somewhere to go and look forward to, kids to play with, and the music. The energy was lively and friendly and welcoming. 

But then the pastor retired. An interim pastor came in, ok, everyone still in good spirits. But then they hired a pastor and everything started to sour. 

I don't know how churches work. I know I show up and people smile and everything seems fine. But everything didn't seem fine. The sermons were fine. The congregation wasn't. The community felt off. And people slowly trickled away. My friends were leaving. My brother came less and less. And my motivation to get out of bed on one of my two days off per week waned. 

I can pray anywhere. I feel more connected to God while sitting in the middle of a forest or floating down a river. I go to church for the community and to feel connected with others. And that was slowly eroding away. 

When my parents left, it was a shock that I didn't think I could feel. They had been going to that church since I was young. They loved the people. But something was off. They spoke up but were pushed aside so they left. 

I didn't know I could experience this weird, confused grief for a place or a time. It's kinda like college when it's over but you know from the start that college isn't going to last forever. You look bad, yup, good times but now what. This is more like feeling completely lost. And the people I saw there, the friendly faces who I grew up with all kinda scattered to different churches. And now I'm left not sure what to do. Starting over feels like too much. And I've church shopped enough to know what I like and I don't like. My parents picked a baptist church that my sister goes to. Uh, that's a no for me. I do not need hellfire threats and dichotomous thinking to keep me looking to the Lord. 

I feel alone again. Not like I don't have family, but that's different. A lot of people are quitting at work. It sucks. Makes me question what's next. 

Now what

 There is this intense feeling of pressure and weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe most days. I don't drink anymore, but I think this is one of the reasons why I would before. It's like the atmosphere is too dense, like I'm swimming and I can barely breathe. Maybe it's humidity is so high that I can feel the water droplets or the barometric pressure. 

I'm trying to figure out how to brain dump in order to relax and calm down. I carry weight of the most difficult cases right now that I find at the end of the day, my brain cannot process any more information. I'm so "on" all the time, listening and inquiring, curious for hours on end and when I have back-to-back to back cases, the pressure in my chest and my throat gets worse.

I don't fear work anymore like I used to. I'm calm when I'm there as long as someone is in front of me. It's the extra stuff that makes me crawl the walls. 

Someone recently said I'm never happy, no matter what I do. That hurt. I feel this intense push forward to keep going, learning, be better than yesterday. But I can see where that may seem exhausting to someone on the outside. I'm constantly questioning the state of things and why they are how they are and how to improve them. Usually, I'm within the confines of someone else's vision and all I see are the flaws. 

I know I need to get back in the dirt. I know I need to find a way to stay active and learning but not day after day with the same repeat at work, but I'm not sure how I can balance that with bills and house and child care and and and the pressure comes back. 

I've been trying to focus on no buy challenges or budgeting, but sometimes I get so overwhelmed that all that goes out the window and I say -fuck it- and go down some rabbit hole that I think is going to make me feel better. Right now, I want a cuckoo clock. It's fucking ridiculous. I don't remember what it was last week, maybe custom leather bags or the perfect tshirt. Some magical thing that is going to make me feel better or at least ok... until I look at my bank account and I fucked my budget again. 

I can't. I'm frustrated and stuck. Gotta take the dog to the vet, clean out the basement, put away laundry, spend time with family, meal prep, be a good mom, a good daughter, a good partner, a good employee. 
I wonder if I hit the limits of my brain. Like I've found the max cap that I can hold and I'm just riding the line most days to try to make it through. And I don't know how to cut back, or maybe I do but I'm too scared to take the jump. 

I think the spending is self-sabotaging to keep me where I am. Fuck. I hate journaling and putting things together. Cause then I get stuck with the -now what?

Another dead dog

 My dog died. A quick but terrible death. 

There’s something about quick and bloody deaths that really stick with you. The moment replays over and over like a gory loop of helpless that you cannot stop. It feels like time is flying in the moment but then it stops and repeats like a squeaky tennis shoe. Squeak, step, squeak, step, over and over. 

Work is ungodly hell right now. The workload is unbearable. I cannot collect my thoughts. I have too many things swirling around in my brain at all times and I can’t catch a break to catch a breath. I’m drowning. Day and day again. 

It’s funny cause for all the altruism that gets someone into the helping field, it all gets beat out of you one wah or another. Another lie. Another broken story. Another no call no show. Another productivity email. Repeat. Add in a squeaky shoe on squeak, step, squeak, and there is no rest. There is no break. Even days off are too short and the people and the stories stick with you. The forgotten notes or to remember lists or progress reports that need sent are neeeeeever ending. 

And then a fucking coworker was mean as hell, trying to be funny at the end of a long day and I just about lost it. My brain is already so full my head is splitting and aching so the last ducking thing I need is a snarky ass coworker hopped up on anger and altruism and burnout that she thinks it’s fucking funny to shred me. And it sucks because while she’s mad at others, I always was nothing but nice to her. So when she turned on me, I was shocked. I guess I shouldn’t be but when I’m dodging lies and people trying to get what they want all day long while trying to maintain productivity, the last fucking thing I need at the end of the day is someone being snarky who should be on my team. 

I gave away my class. Tonight was my last night. I love teaching but I’m done. I’m spent. It’s too much. I can’t chase cats anymore. I can’t get my dog dying out of my already fucking full head. Squeak. Step. Repeat. And all I want to do is rub her little face and tell her I do love her, even on the most annoying days. I do love her. I did love her. Even when I was so angry at the dumb shit she did. I did love her. She did love me all the time. Even when she would stare at me and pee on my bed right in front of me. 

I got to get my head right. I can’t keep up like how I am much longer. Idk how people do this long term. My brain is full. And I don’t have time for any of this other shit. 

Time

 Time goes by weirdly in sobriety. It has weight and density. It takes up space and energy. It feels like a responsibility and some days it’s great. Others, it’s fucking awful.

I just went through a pretty intense training at work and I’m still a bit disoriented from the whole thing. Part 1 was a few months ago and was amazing. I was able to connect different parts of things that were in my brain for better understanding and I felt strange for a week. Part two was kinda a wash, more just practice.

I don't know how to relax. I started drinking when I was 13, on and off until college. Then it was party hard one night, rest the next for a bit. Weekends were long and grueling, but so many laughs with friends. I don't remember where I was some nights. It's all kinda a blur.

I kept drinking a lot when I was around family functions, holidays, events, weddings, funerals, and fuck, towards the end there were few times when I wasn't heavily drinking. I remember having some beers before going to a church event. That was awkward as fuck but I kept thinking I should go out to the car to drink more to make it less awkward. 

I'm at this weird point now where I'm happy with how I feel physically, mentally, emotionally. I just feel a bit distant. Like I'm not "fun." I don't know how to have fun. I catch myself sometimes almost having fun but then the wind goes out of the sails and I'm kinda just back down again. 

This training was the same way. I felt like I found my calling, like it meant something. But then part two happened and I was less so. It felt like fucking work. It felt like it didn't make sense anymore. I felt like I was back not knowing what I'm doing. Ugh. Time is going so slowly. 

soft ears, tail wags, broken heart

 I had to put my dog down. She was 13 years old and the best dog I could imagine. 

Watching a dog get old is a sneaky thing. She would follow me around and play as hard as she used to, but as time went on she was around less and less, sleeping a little bit longer or lingering on the couch when I half heartedly offered a walk. She went deaf so she sometimes didn't meet me at the door when I got home, but I always knew when she saw me, she would jump around and dance. 
My preschooler always made a point to pet her or miss her dog food bowl and cover the floor when feeding her. She lost bladder control and he would help me make sure she was on her bed or pee pads when she laid down. I still remember her last walk where she reluctantly but obediently followed him around.

I hate how the harder you love something, the more it hurts to lose it. 

She loaded up in the car with a wag and I'm not sure if she knew and she was just ready to go or if she really just liked car rides. I told her she was a good dog, the best dog. She stuck her head out the window. I cried. 

The decision is always second guessed. I don't know why dogs live so much longer than different parts of their body can function. She was deaf and her kidneys were shutting down, but still I thought maybe I should wait a little longer. I'm not sure for what. Maybe just to not have to say goodbye or have these feelings like -what if- and -I should have- that linger around any decision with such a finality as death. 

My preschooler still won't talk about her. I don't think I've cried this much in a long time. Something about the intersection of post partum hormones, losing my best friend, and having to return to work is really making me feel like I'm in emotional freefall. I can't stop crying and crying. I feel like I'm sliding backwards down a muddy slope, trying to catch my footing but falling as I claw my way forward.

I almost followed her pawprints in the snow from the last time she wandered out of the yard, down the block, and down the hill past the neighborhood. I don't know what I was looking for, maybe clinging to a little part of her odd decision making or what she wanted to do or maybe looking for clues about what shut down her kidneys so that I can be mad at something in particular like the final clue that would make me feel better as I swear vengeance against some concrete enemy. I drove to where the pawprints became untraceable and cried some more. And today as the snow pummels down, her iced up pawprints are slowly becoming erased by the fresh snow. And I cried. 

I thought taking her in while I was on leave would be easier. Like I had all this free time to clean the carpets and set things straight, but now all my free time is just absorbed in sad remembrances and second guessing myself. 

There's something about the dogs I've had that mark different times in my life based on the decades that I had them during. I had my teenage through 20s dog; the dappy but loveable floppy eared friend who listened to all my different heartbreaks through the years, lived through the college years and couch surfing after, the apartment fire, breakups and break ins and break downs in crappy cars. Then there was this dog, the last 20s through the almost 40 when I thought I would have a farm, trained her to herd sheep, bravely took on an attack pig, traveled through harvest season after harvest season, went on camping trips, played in the ocean, and took on my kids as though they were the most important thing in her pack. When I went into labor I couldn't find her anywhere in the middle of the night, but come to find her cuddled next to the bed of my sleeping kid. She could sense when you needed cheered up and she always seemed like she was trying to guess what would make you happy. We got rid on the sheep as she got older and she didn't mind. I left my farm job, moved to an apartment, stopped training foster dogs, got a house, and she came along for the ride. 

Time slows us all  down. Family grows, changes, branches die. Our saturday morning routine changed so much through the years. She used to sneak into bed in the morning and sneak out just as quickly if she was discovered and given attention. She was a working dog through and through. I hope she didn't hurt or suffer. I wonder how long I will hurt me to miss her. 

Treading water in an overfilled aquarium

 It's the end of 2021 and the cold rain continues outside. I'm glad it's in the 40s or else we would have more snow than we could manage. I notice every creak in my body as if it's held together with glue and string and one wrong move throws off the entire delicate balance. I'm hoping to make some grand sweeping resolution to grow stronger in the new year, but honestly, I am barely able to make the resolution to get these thoughts rambling in my head out into words. I wake up and grab onto the day but it feels like I'm holding sand as it flows downward and leaves me holding nothing at the end of the day.

I'm on maternity leave. I love staying home and getting baby snuggles all day every day. Baby has a stuffy nose today and my anxiety ridden brain has self-diagnosed COVID as of course it's the worst possible scenario and not just a snotty nose from winter time. It's impossible to sit down without thinking of what is going to go wrong. 

Elderly multigravida is what my discharge paperwork said. I feel so old and wise, but really my body is falling apart and it took me so long to realize the warm fuzzy feelings from having family... which I equate entirely to hormone imbalances that evolutionarily discourage us from leaving our young in the woods due to lack of sleep and completely irrational demands of motherhood. My brain feels like it's glitching and I can't connect the dots or I'm staring at something but I can't find the word for it. 

There is one thing for certain - at this moment I am sober and so happy to at least have that. 

It feels different, less highs and lows. More stable. Less chasing my tail, feeling like crap, mental fog, wishing I was at a different state of mind. I'm doing that thing that everyone who takes a step back from the rat race does - evaluating whether I want to go back. My pay isn't the greatest and some days is really stressful, but some days I put the stress in there where it doesn't really belong. I try too hard or push more than the clients are ready to go. The courts push hard in one direction and the client is running in the opposite direction. My confidence is low but I kinda muddle through some of the toughest conversations of my life thinking -how the fuck do most therapists continue to know what to say- or -am I doing this right?

I am holding so many things in my head like an overstuffed aquarium that needs cleaned out. I need to write. I need to talk. Need to process. And within all of these fears is this sense of dread that baby is growing and getting bigger and I will forget. I don't want to forget. I want to hold on to everything. And my 4 year old is demanding as ever and I try to be everything for him too, but I'm on 1 hours sleep at a time and physically falling apart. 

So no grand sweeping gestures. No resolutions to run a marathon. I do want to slowly build my strength back up, take care of myself, let out these thoughts, sort them, catalog them with these pictures, these snuggles, these wild hormones that make me feel like all the world is so full of love but so full of destruction and disease at the same time. I think I need to make a list. More for myself than anything. I don't want to hold myself to weird, impossible standards, but I do need to figure out what I'm trying to do and how I can get there. I'm splattered right now and treading water.