I'm sitting here listening to the rain, trying to finish up a chapter from my book. Hopefully it'll be out before winter hits us. I've been thinking a lot. And by a lot, I mean obsessively thinking to the point of insomnia. I'm very sad, but I know that sometimes it's necessary to just drop people from your life without any sort of explanation whatsoever. Most of the time, it's because we're old enough to know what we don't want in our lives, and that the person who is filling up your love tank with a bunch of toxic waste should learn the hard way of
why they're being dropped. An explanation would just conjure up a negative response. As I have learned, silence is the best communicator when distancing yourself from negative people. As I always say, "Just pretend I'm dead," and that's that. You don't have to give an explanation of why you died, because you're simply not there any longer. While pushing up daisies, they can figure it all out with a Ouija board for all I care. And you know, it's not me being a hard ass -- it's from learning through my own mistakes and being "dropped" myself. I learned through the silent distance of others of what I did wrong in order to
learn from my mistakes. Remember when your parents would say, "Go to your room" -- and it was usually after you did something wrong? Why would they send you to your room (other than to pour another drink)? -- To make you think about what it was your did wrong. Why can't we learn from that time -- a time when silence would speak louder than words. We're not satisfied with that and we accept our poor behavior. If we accept our poor behavior, then others must accept it too, right?
Wrong.
In relationships, people have their limits. If one spouse is abusive to another due to an emotional disorder or an alcohol or substance abuse problem, then the only thing that may keep these two together is that the abuser must
get help. Getting help does not mean that you're "crazy'. It means that you're also fed up with your behavior and the way your life is going. Getting help is like going to a massage therapist and working those sore muscles out -- releasing negative energy and reinstalling your peace back little by little. There's a huge stigma when it comes to getting help for our minds. Some feel that you ought to be a little 'cray-cray' to ask for help, but I feel that those who get help are the ones who seem to have their lives a little more figured out than most. As I was speaking to a close friend of mine who lives quite a distance away from me, I had discussed a few issues with her. It's amazing how much help you can get by someone who is also receiving help. She's like me, she has anxiety disorder and goes through spells of depression from time to time. We both seek help and seem to manage fine, if there aren't any major complications. But it's odd, how the people who get help, whether it be talking to a therapist for emotional issues or someone who gets help in a drug or alcohol recovery group are the ones who have the smartest answers. Thing is, they want help. They want to learn. They want to adopt various types of coping skills so they can handle life a little better. It takes time and a whole lotta' patience to really see the results though. People don't have the time, nor the patience to work things through. Most would rather see the bottom of their wine glass and call it a night. As simple as that may sound, it's just as bad as brushing everything under the rug and forgetting that the problem is even under there. I call them, "cowards".
With that being said, I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. I try to do the best I can. I'm unreliable and sometimes unpredictable, but never insensitive to anyone's feelings. I may lash out if I feel like I'm being attacked or cornered, but that's after a long bout of patience. It takes a lot for me to lash out if I'm hurt. I'm extremely forgiving, but no longer tolerant to a pattern of abuse. Sometimes I pray for God to take me when I'm feeling suicidal. I couldn't kill myself because I'm a coward, but the thoughts are there at times. "I hate my life" may be my motto for that day, but that usually passes. My panic attacks are debilitating. My depressive episodes, even more so. I'm frustrated that most therapists say they could never picture me having a panic attack. It's
not their fault. I like to hide behind a smile or make myself look "less crazy". My "togetherness" is a fraud, although if someone is in a crisis, all my anxiety is casted aside and I'm all about focusing and helping that person who needs me. Mom always says, "You gotta see her when someone is in a crisis! You'd never believe it!" I can be brave for other people, but sadly, not for myself…until now.
Maybe now you can see my reasonings for dropping a few toxic eggs out of my life. It's not that your issues are bigger than mine -- it's because I have similar issues that prevent me from absorbing all the drama. I need to fix myself before I can ever help anyone else. Right now, I'm all tapped out. I'm running on empty. I'm ready to check out, but my ride (God) hasn't picked me up yet. They say to never focus on the past or the future because you'll be missing out on 'the now' -- but I do go back into time and remember fond memories of when the world was a better place. I can't help it. Dad was still alive, Mom didn't have cancer and all my sisters got along so well. If I only had a time machine… I'm extremely hurt that my family is falling apart little by little, fight by fight, and it takes every ounce of energy I have to even get up in the morning anymore. My wife and I are at the point where we are going to open houses on our Sunday afternoons, looking for new homes more than an hour away from the life I used to know. I want to make my own life. Call it selfish, call it 'finally 40 & fed up' -- but never call me and say I never tried. I always gave 110%. Always.
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