A day full of crying

I don’t want to “talk” about the difficulties of participating in “outside life” because you wouldn’t understand. What may appear to be just trivial, frivolous, silly, child-like, or over exaggeration to you-it is piercing high in difficulty for me.

I feel stupid that these things are barriers for me. I don’t want to tell anyone about them. It’s embarrassing. I have to admit that although I sometimes feel that I could have been someone, something, or participating in things that I enjoy (research, analysis, policy-creation, etc)-I could not demonstrate my understandings and knowledge very well. I can’t “show” what’s inside. Then, I have these things-these “barriers” that I have to dodge at all times while trying to manage those wants (higher education, purpose, continued focus in things that interest me). Like playing Pacman…. It’s exhausting.

I give up. Often. It’s easier to not “try” to be outside, and something that I am not (but secretly really want to be). I am tired of feeling invalidated, discounted, “stupid.” Why even my Drs act in a way that tells me they think I am “mentally handicapped” (“focus on your breathing when stressed…. all people feel this way….it’s not so bad”) They just don’t “get” it.

I love outdoors. I love nature. I love the sounds of birds, and the smell of the trees and fresh air. But, I hate the slight wind on my face. The irritation of wind in my hair, or on my skin. Or the bright light even on a cloudy day. I can’t move without sunglasses. Then, my fingers and toes are frozen and I can’t concentrate. Wait, that wind is just slightly brushing up against my cheek and a strand of hair falls out of my bun and hits me near my mouth. Raging anger over things needing to stop. Stop, bugging me. Stop, interrupting me. Stop, feeling so entirely disgusting and upsetting, and volatile. It’s either too cold out or too hot. Then, my sock feels funny, and I can’t concentrate while trying to tend to my ¬†little ones (children) . It’s so much work. I just want to absorb into myself.

I hate the guilt I feel. About not wanting to deal with anyone else’s needs. Of just barely able to look after them. Of not being able to be that person I so want to be : energetic, fun, organized, not scattered. Not stressed because I can”think” and also because these sensory things are driving me so up the wall that I break down. I can’t manage well.

Where does one go when they have realized that they just can’t do life. I can’t “do” work, school, motherhood, basic daily things I can’t look after. What does one look forward to when all those little dreams are gone because for my entire lifetime of struggle, I didn’t get anywhere.

I couldn’t become different.