To Infinity and Beyond

Forever ago, I wrote a little piece on the Duggar family, you know the ones with a mazillion* "J"-named children?

Well, it seems as if one of their children has now had a child.  And do you know what occurred to me, in a moment of pure, adrenaline-rush fright?  That if this family has a mazillion children, and their children do the same, the Duggars will exponentially grow in size.  EXPONENTIALLY.

It was not a good moment, sufficed to say.

*to be exact, it's 18, with the 19th on the way

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Barrel Gone Dry

About a month ago I wrote a post about how I was dealing with the house rehab and unpacking and decorating.  I talked about how I was doing all my cognitive-behavioral therapy stuff and trying to "change my language" about the situation and that it was working...

Well, since then I've had major coping skill FAIL.  I mean F-A-I-L.  Like, crying at work, screaming at the boy, giving up and hiding under the covers at 6:30pm on a Sunday, feeling (honestly and truly to my very cells) that it would NEVER get better, that it had gone on for too long and that all of the work I had done to improve living life with a mental illness was, "bam!" out the window.  It was baaaaaaad.  Like, right after my Grandma died bad.  I couldn't even go into work even though it meant not getting paid... I didn't go to U2 even though Em scored us last-minute tickets... and I honestly wasn't sure why it was all worth it.  The way that OCD makes me feel is so counter to who I really am that sometimes I just feel like I will never be able to live life how I want to... how I deserve to. And that makes me really, really sad sometimes.

So, what happened?  What made me flip my shit despite having techniques in my arsenal to avoid such a situation?  Well, for one, I have a mental illness that I can't "cure," one that I can only work with in hopes of having a functional and fulfilling life.  Treatment isn't foolproof, which can be really daunting because even if you're doing everything "right," you still get fucked over sometimes.  Out of nowhere.  In public. With everyone watching.

For two, it's been almost a year, 365 days of constant anxiety, at levels similar to how I felt on my worst days after Grandma passed... my "dark days."  That's a lot of anxiety to cope with on a regular, consistent basis.  I think that my barrel just went dry, my well was empty, my breaking point met.  I didn't have any more energy to deal with the intrusive boxes, the lack of organization, the lack of control.  I know, I know, it takes people YEARS to unpack.  Well, I am not people and I do not take years to unpack.  (There are those absolutes again...)

Finally (or for third, whichever you think has better symmetry), I had the flu.  It's true! Being sick made me a complete disaster.  It's like when I was a kid, whenever I was totally irrational or cranky or whatever, my mom would say, "Ooo I hope you're not getting sick."  And then, the next day, "poof," I was sick.  I personally think my mother is some sort of evil sorceress who would create "sickness" so that I would be quiet and asleep and weak instead of healthy and just plain annoying.  I have no proof, though, so I guess we'll just have to say she was right.

I'm clearly feeling better now, you know, with the "sharing" and the "jokes" and all.  I'm not sure how or why, but I woke up a couple of days ago feeling like a human being again, albeit one that now recognizes that there are some things I will (here I go with strong language again) not be able to compromise on, no matter how much I wish it.  Having a stable, organized, uncluttered home is one of them.  It is very clear that in order for me to be a person out there in the world, one who has enough energy to stop the need to control the uncontrollable or the intrusive thoughts about what did or didn't happen or pick your favorite OCD issue-of-the-day, I need my "safe space."  I need a place to come where, when I look around, I don't see a million things that I need to do and no clear way to start, I don't see something out of place that sparks an intrusive, repetitive thought that won't go away, I don't feel uptight and crazy and untethered to this world.  Instead, I just feel like I'm home.

Maybe one day I'll be able to be a "person" and be lax about my personal space.  Last week was proof that this is not that time.  And, in all honestly, admitting this and allowing myself to be a complete basket case helped me get over it.  As weak as it might sound to some, I honestly think that being able to say to ourselves, "this is my limit," can be a powerful, even empowering, thing.

So, what now?  Well, we are nearly unpacked, though we are waiting on some additional storage items to be shipping.  We have some painting to finish, including all the trim.  And we have some furniture to buy.  All, in all, though, it feel like the storm has broken and the pieces are falling into place.  It's starting to feel okay, though there's a nagging pressure in my chest if I think about how much we have left to do for too long...

Here's to hoping that my renewed strength can hold out until the puzzle is complete!

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