A Mistake

I made a mistake this morning. I spent an entire afternoon pretending everything was OK when it was not. I spent an entire afternoon laughing and telling stories to a friend. I spent the afternoon caring about being there for her while I was pushing back thoughts of the mistake I had made before arriving. I spent 5 hours trying to bring joy to a woman who is like my sister who is going through a tough time. I made her laugh like I haven’t seen her laugh in a long time and all the while I wanted to vomit.

Anxiety was gripping my chest and making my stomach swirl. I pushed it away. It would surface and I would push it back under the water. 30 minutes after arriving I realized how terrible of a mistake I had made and I wanted to leave right then. I wanted to grab my bag, hug her, and walk away. I wanted to come home, stack covers on top of myself and sleep the rest of the day. I pray she didn’t notice the shift. I pray she only felt the love, laughter, and emotional support I was there to provide her.

I spent the hour and a half car ride home fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit. I almost stopped in the side of the highway a few times. Now I’m home and all I want to do is sleep. I almost let myself drift off, but here I am, keeping up appearances again. Keeping up appearances for the sake of someone else. 

Some days I want to let go. There have been a lot of days lately where all I want to do is let go. I understand why people call off work. I understand why they punch walls. I understand why they scream. I understand why they shut down and stop talking. I understand why they lock themselves away. I’d love more than anything to shut down. 

I don’t know what’s stopping me. Maybe it’s because I don’t want people to talk. I don’t want to be the one they whisper about in the office lunch room. I don’t want to be the aunt that suddenly stopped being fun. I don’t want to be the stepmom that isn’t good enough. I don’t want to be the daughter that adds more stress to her parents already stress filled lives. I don’t want to be a burden of a wife. I don’t want to be seen at family get togethers and have cousins whisper as I walk by. I don’t want to lose the only friends I have.

I sometimes wish I could disappear. Maybe if I could disappear they wouldn’t even really remember me. Maybe it would be as if I hadn’t really existed. I thought the medication was helping, but now I’m just scared of how I would be feeling without it.

I’m sorry for the dark post, probably a boring one at that. 

Who am I kidding? Why would you care anyway? You don’t know me and you have no attachment to me. I don’t even know who I’m talking to when I say “you”.

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