"The Cavalry ain't comin."

“The Cavalry ain’t comin”
Somehow, I got a bit codependent, needy, nuts. I thought I was over that shit, but it crept back in unannounced. The isolation of being sick, a single parent, slammed with too much stuff I did not want to do. I got so lonely I talked too openly with people I didn’t know well enough, never stopping to ask do I trust this person? Do I respect this person? I made people uncomfortable with my “classic overshare” as an awesome comedy duo once put it. I was a walking wound. I was so stressed out that it leaked out, I couldn’t contain it. I can’t hate myself for that. My capacity to deal with what was going on got overwhelmed. I couldn’t contain it.
I would’ve blabbed my shit to the mailman, all my troubles, poured em right out on the poor fellow if it would bring relief and sympathy for just a minute. It was too much for me to bear. I got lost. I tried to distract myself with other people’s troubles. I see it now, but I didn’t recognize it at the time, I didn’t allow myself enough quiet time for wisdom to bubble up. I ran around painting a friend’s kitchen, organizing her closets while dishes were piled high in my own sink. My own flat, a half disaster area.

I walked around saying Are you my mother? To practically strangers. No filter. The disease makes me lose my filter, but that tendency is apparently always there and I need to be vigilant. I was too tired, too beat, to much a lost babe in the woods. I’m now closer to 30 than to 25, closer to an adult than a child. I am an adult. I AM AN ADULT. So why didn’t I act like one? Part of it is the disease, the inflammation in the brain is like being drunk, it loosens the inhibitions, drops the filter. But part of it is a weakness on my part, but no shame in that. I did the best I could with what I had and where I was at…which wasn’t pretty. But I need to figure out what happened and take responsibility for myself so that I can move towards what I want and away from what I don’t.
Slowly, I stopped dreaming, I stopped blogging, I stopped my slightly embarrassing self-help books addiction, I stopped planning goals, and I started wallowing and woe is me-ing. I made a huge mess of my life. The disease can affect the brain in such a way that you are reduced to your most basic instincts- fight or flight. I was at one point, so cognitively impaired that I couldn’t remember to feed myself and had to be told after 16 hours with no food, that I needed to eat something. And even then, grocery shopping, making food were literally beyond me.
Life threw me some curveballs and I did the best I could, but I didn’t handle it well. I don’t think I should be ashamed of it, shame now there’s a useless emotion, as someone said. Beating myself up over my mistakes is not going to help me solve them. I’m trying to be more compassionate with myself, to give myself at least the level of empathy, compassion and understanding that I too freely give to any stranger that crosses my path.
I tried denial and distraction. I don’t do well without structure. I chafe under structure, but I flex around it and do what I need to do, and much as I hate to admit it, I do better with structure. I had verbal diarrhea, so I tried to quell it with doing more, but the things I had to do were fraught with emotion, shame, doctors telling me I was nuts, not actually sick. One of my best friends said that the only thing I did wrong was taking so long to take myself and what I knew to be true seriously. I tried to distract myself with doing…with fixing…other people’s problems, so that I could ignore my own. I didn’t realize it at the time. I was just trying so hard to run from the pain.
I started therapy recently, and it felt so useless, stupid, but I pushed forward. Who the hell needs this much therapy? Why am I not better I thought?
But when I look back on things over the last year, when I try to look with compassion, I see a woman who got a little stuck in the developmental stage of cutting the cord, and just when she started to spread her wings, got knocked back with something so ferocious that 95% of folks couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t pretty, but I did what I had to to get through it. And now I’m left with a mess to clean up. It’s my mess. I played some part in getting here. A lot of it is the disease, but some of it is me. And the part that I can control is my reaction to it.
I was so out of synch with the rest of the world. My problems are downright unfathomable for 90% of folks. Just because they couldn’t understand it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real, that I’m making it up or have done something to bring this on myself, sometimes good people have REAAAALLY shitty luck. But deep down, I believe that I chose my son and he chose me for a reason, that this is old karmic BS that needs to be worked through. I can face it now, or delay it and it will only scream louder and louder for my attention in whatever way necessary to force me to face it. Desperation can instigate some pretty awesome changes.
So, I started re-reading the books that helped me through similar problems years ago. And I’m trying to look very compassionately, but realistically at the events over the last year, and say where did I go wrong? Not what did the disease do, but where did I lose control? How can I prevent this from happening again? How can I wake up and get conscious again?
I made a list of my responsibilities as Codependent no More suggests, and I noted where I had neglected my responsibilities in favor of taking care of others, of trying to distract myself from my own shit, to avoid dealing with the pain head on. What happened to the girl who buckled down, held her ground even though her boots were quaking. Looked straight ahead at the goals and dreams and stood her ground, no matter what came up.
And wow. It was interesting. My responsibilities are:
Getting myself and my son as well as possible. Doctors, family , friends, need to get on board or get out of the way. I do not need outside approval for what I choose. My son chose me for a reason, because I am the only one that can figure this out, guide him through this healthy and whole. Connecting with my own intuition, really listening, making time to be quiet long enough to hear. Praying is talking to god. Meditating is listening to god. Run around distracted enough and the divine’s wisdom fades into background noise.
Financially supporting us- blah blah blah. .We have expensive medical shit not covered by insurance.
A whole bunch more mundane practical stuff, that I’ll spare you the details on, but it was interesting to see how goddamned overwhelming it was. Anyone would have lost their shit long ago. I have done amazingly well. It wasn’t pretty, but again, I did okay considering, doesn’t mean I can’t do better going forward.

But next up on the list in a distracted, sleepy kind of, wow this excersise is stupid, I’m not getting anywhere and then….next on the list, scrawled in a chewed up Bic pen….
Keeping myself sane and happy.
Wait what? I don’t have time for that. Hear me out said some voice I haven’t heard in too long. Look at this crazy shit, if you’re going to survive this list of heavy ass responsibilities, you’re gonna have to keep a steady sane, happy keel, or you will go under.
I have to work to keep myself sane and happy? That’s a responsibility? That’s my responsibility? OH. How do I do that?
That quiet voice grew stronger- you raise those boundaries a little- a shower a day is a requirement, not some luxury you give to yourself after absolutely everything else is done. You go running, quiet down and occupy the body long enough for the mind to quiet and then tell you what you need to know. You make time for friends, care of the self, you laugh, you do things to make yourself happy, or nothing else on that long ass list will get done.
Really?
Wow. So simple and yet somehow I forgot this profound truth.

So I’m reading self help. And I went to Salvation Army for back to school clothes for my son. I didn’t find much. But I did find the exact pair of wooly clogs I have wanted but couldn’t bite the bullet and spend ten bucks at Target to buy, “no, no, you need that money for meds, the mortgage, the doctors.” $1.99, tags still on in my exact size. Wooly clogs to make me feel safe and warm even when I’m out and about battling my mountainous list.
And I snuck out to the bookstore and bought Chris Gardner’s book, the man “The Pursuit of Happyness" movie is based on. One chapter is called "The Cavalry Ain't Coming". So I best buy myself some comfy shoes, because noone else is going to. The book is called Start Where You Are. Somehow it seems slightly less daunting now. I am slowly but surely listing out what I want and need, and moving in the direction of making sure I get it.
Less distraction, more proaction. (Okay that part’s a bit silly, but you get my drift.)
More coffee dates with myself and a good book, more journaling, more slowing down, little treats for myself and the boy. I’m filling up my tank again, slowly but surely, not running on empty, so I have something real left to give to the sweet boy who continues to make it all worth it, when I can’t see it for myself.
I wish everyone peace, perspective and a happy cozy night. Thanks for reading.