Today is quiet and wet, the wet you can hear underfoot as car wheels roll over the asphalt. But other than that, it is quiet. It is also the kind of gray which, if you are lucky enough to spend such a day at home, encourages burrowing.
I am at home today. I feel lucky to be here. But I also feel bad about being here, as though I'm not deserving of time to reflect, to work through, and to rebuild. It feels self-indulgent.
My boyfriend keeps reminding me: I am going through something. I am going through a lot of somethings that built up over twenty-seven years. And all of those somethings are coming back to me at once, seeking residence inside a mind that is already filled to the brim.
I am told not to be so hard on myself. Not so demanding of my time, of my body, and of my mind. But it still feels wrong not to do so. Why should I cut myself a break I haven't earned? Never mind that the benchmarks for earning such a thing are completely nebulous.
I had some hard moments over the weekend. Moments where I could not cope with the dissonance between the story I've written of what my life should be and the endless messiness of reality. And I just let those moments happen, let them unfold all the way, as if I hadn't ever been to therapy or gained any self-knowledge at all.
And that felt miserable. Dealing with anxiety and PTSD is truly a battle of wills; I will continue as I have been, or I will fight and will not allow things to stay the same. Acknowledgement can only take you so far.
One of the things that always disgusted me most was when, after rampages and destruction, my father would get struck by a glimmer of guilt. A tacit acknowledgement that such behavior was far beyond the realm of what is remotely acceptable as a father, as a husband, as a human being. He would come to me, a child, weak and asking forgiveness as though his redemption was mine to give.
But you can't keep saying sorry for something you won't stop doing. Anyone can see through that from a mile away. Those sorries aren't about remorse; they are about wanting to be assured that your horrendous behavior is okay. They are about making yourself feel better.
I feel like I got sidetracked there. I think the connection was that you can acknowledge and apologize until you're blue in the face, but until you actually take steps to remedy the situation, you are an idiot.
I believe that. And every time I give in to impulses, let anxiety take the wheel, and push aside logic, I have to face the fact that there was a choice imbedded somewhere in there, and that I took the wrong road.
So today, on this rainy morning, I am going to sit with my tea and let that sink in. I'm going to let myself burrow. And then I'm going to make some choices.