Shame and Forgiveness
Recently the majority of my posts have been geared towards The Mental Health Corner more than they have the horror side of my life. One of the reasons for this is that I find it extremely cathartic to work out my feelings in a blog post. The main reason is that I hope that these posts will help someone who reads them. I think anxiety, depression, and many other mental 
illnesses are still the realm of myth for many people. They may throw the words around without an understanding of the meaning, or may know someone with a diagnosis, but may not see them in the jaws of their illness.
Last night was rough. Rougher than I’ve known in quite some time. Overall the day wasn’t bad. I went to work (day #34 in a row!) and even made it to see my niece play soccer. I sat field-side with my brother, and we had a great time talking while she played. (If you’re wondering, she rocked it in goal again.) I snagged a few pics with my niece, and she asked how many games I was planning on going to. Dipper answered for me because I was flabbergasted. It never crossed my mind to go to any less than every game I could. After the game, I stopped at a local nursery and purchased a gorgeous morning glory plant and a new watering can. When I got home, I walked Zelda and curled up with Midnight Blue.
It should have been a great day, but all day long I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was worthless. That I didn’t impact anyone around me. The feeling wouldn’t let me be, and around 9pm I lost control. I cried steadily for a few hours. I wound up sending messages to Dipper. At first the messages were affirming. Then the cycle hardcore kicked into gear. I started feeling like I couldn’t express what I meant in a meaningful way, then I was worried I was blathering on. It wound up with me calling Dipper a few times, and him waking up and messaging me. I needed tethering badly, and he assured me that I’m still sister to him, aunt to Phoebe, and wife to Tkout. That the good outweighs the bad. That it’s always worth it. I can’t express how much I needed that. How much I needed to know I mattered. I’d been asking Tkout all day if I was still his wife. If he regrets marrying me. If the hard days give him second thoughts.
The shame usually accompanies a 911 routine with Dipper, but I think last night I was far too exhausted for that. I fell asleep with my eyes burning from the tears and the inner voice telling me if I didn’t get my shit together – and soon – I was going to go well and truly mad.
This morning was tough. I’m writing this from work – Day 35 – and I am so glad it’s the last day of the week. I almost didn’t make it in. I slept poorly and just feel like hiding. I’ve talked to Tkout and Dipper this morning, and they are both going about things like last night never even happened. Tkout told me that’s because these things happen and they both know it.
Today I’m working on the forgiveness aspect of self-care. While I consider myself to be adept at forgiving others, I’m still working on forgiving myself. I’m trying to focus on the fact that these things happen. That I have been worse and haven’t scared anyone off yet. That Tkout, Dipper, and Phoebe have been there through thick and thin. That Tkout and Dipper tell me it’s Ride or Die.
Despite what feels like a colossal setback, I know I am making progress. The anxiety is lying and saying that I’m not getting better. But I know that’s not true. You see, I used to have these 911 attacks multiple times in one day. Let me repeat that. I was having a 5 alarm fire anxiety attack more than once a day. It sucks badly that I broke my streak of not having those kinds of attacks, but I’m thankful it was the first of it’s kind in a long while.
Another part of forgiveness that I’m trying to master is knowing that everyone else moved on. Dipper and Tkout have treated me the same as they have every morning. I’m the only one who seems to still be stuck in the past and worrying over yesterday.
