I go through my life putting apples in my cart and push it on the path that is, at times, anything but smooth. I try to keep it steady. I try to fill the cart with a reasonable amount of apples, but inevitably too many apples are piled into the cart. I try to maneuver the cart carefully over the bumps and ruts, but as expected, occasionally an apple bounces out.
This is my anxiety. I hit a bump and an apple or two bounce out. I carefully stop the cart, balancing it so no more apples spill out. And then I look for the apples, check for damage, put them carefully back in the cart and then proceed along the rugged road of life.
Most times I can see the big ruts or bumps and can prepare for the loss of an apple or two. Before I admitted I needed help, that damn apple cart would roll down a hill and spew apples all over the place. I wouldn’t even chase it…couldn’t chase it. I would throw my hands up, yell “f**k it” and let the insanity engulf me.
After counseling and with medication, I found I could actually avoid big bumps or better yet, leave the apples behind and keep moving. But this is a still very very fine line.
Sometimes, when I don’t see the rock jutting out of the path and I hit it, apples spill everywhere. The apple cart is overturned. When that happens I’m done. It’s not a nuclear meltdown. It’s not a series of panic attacks. It’s inexplicable.
Well it has happened. I was being exceptionally careful because apples had been bouncing out lately. Job stress, weight concerns, finances, vacation time, grandbaby on the way, and the other usual adult stressors. But then my hubby was in a car accident. He was fine. It wasn’t his fault. Other driver was fine. But I didn’t see that rock. The apple cart overturned. I didn’t think it was happening. But the day after the accident, the cart was empty and my apples were scattered everywhere.
I’m there now and I don’t know how to get out.
I’m mad at myself. The self-loathing is back. A distraction, perhaps. So I don’t have to gather those damn apples up. I can’t do anything right. I talk too much. I beat myself up for the way I look. I’m constantly begging for validation and refuse to accept it when I get it. It will NEVER get better (that is sarcasm). Ugh. I hate that I hate myself. God bless the patience of my husband.
I feel like I am reaching out for that thin wire to pull myself up. Back up to the land of the sane. I hate this place. I’m numb, but my brain is hypersensitive. It “hurts”. The sounds, feelings, emotions, nerves….all raw. My brain feels like my skin does during a migraine. I can feel pressure changes, or so it seems. Hypersensitive. I want to cry, but can’t. I want to laugh, but can’t.
I know it will pass. But I m here now. And I hate it.