I finally figured out why I felt so, well, weird this week. Do you know the feeling where, when everything is going well, you have this sense that surely life can't be this good and all that is good and holy is going to end up in the shitter?
It didn't. And that felt weird. My therapist said that normal is the new normal for me, and it will feel weird. But it will happen more and more often.
This past week was pretty good, emotionally. Easter is over (okay, I know there's 50 days in Easter, but THE Easter is over) so that landmine is gone.
All week, I kept thinking that surely, just surely, there's something wrong with me. Shit will happen, and I'll have another breakdown. Some minor stresses this week with work, but I was able to handle it.
A hormonal shift and its accompanying headache had their way with my head and uterus, but I was able to get through it, and noted that the migraines were getting weird on me. Even though it took a couple of weeks and friends and my psychiatrist to tell me that I should check it out, I didn't agonize too much about it being "all in my head" and actually called the neurologist.
The spot I picked at on my arm sometime during Easter weekend is finally healing, although my fingers keep wandering up to pimples on my face making it look worse than if I had managed to leave it alone.
I had to let go a volunteer assistant for an online project I help with, but that went smoothly.
I started running again, and I have been eating a lot more fruits, and am craving FAR less sweets than I used to. I'm getting used to taking care of myself.
I saw my psychiatrist for the 6-month check-up, and I was surprised at myself when we talked about the previous 6 months, and I realized nothing major happened. I had stressed so much about needing to take Ativan once in a while for anxiety, certain I'm certifiable, but his reaction was, "That's not bad at all." Really? I thought. I guess I'm doing okay. I am miles away from where I used to be, but I thought I had miles yet to go.
It's like the feeling I had when I submitted my last assignment for my MLIS in December. Surely there was another assignment I had forgotten. Surely there's something that I forgot and I'll stress out about and have to pull my last all-nighter just to finish it on time. But there wasn't. It was indeed the last assignment. It took me about 6-8 weeks to really realize that yes, I finished my MLIS.
It's like the feeling I had toward the end of the marathon. All along, I wondered when I would hit my "wall" and be completely unable to continue. I worried. But in the last mile or two, I realized that I was almost done with the marathon, and that I could finish it. The hardest parts were behind me, and I didn't even realize. I can actually finish.
There are some things that I still need to address in my healing marathon. A couple more miles, like my picking habit, fear of disappointment and failure, and the long-ingrained big-sister-in-a-dysfunctional-household need to worry and make sure everything is under control in a futile attempt to prevent dad's blowups (because, you know, I don't deal with dad anymore and so I don't need to employ that coping mechanism anymore). Those things I can work on and improve in myself.
There are other things that will need to be resolved in one way or another. My siblings will grow up and move out and perhaps start to question dad's stories about me. They might try to contact me. (If any of you are somehow are reading this, please do!) Or mom might try to reopen lines of communication--probably at the behest of dad, and I'll have to really enforce those boundaries. Or my oldest little brother may eventually stop drinking dad's Kool-Aid. I may not ever get any sort of "closure," or the closure will be partial, incomplete, causing new emotional pains that I will have to address with my therapist's assistance. These are things I have no control over.
But right now, as it has been in the past week, I'm feeling good. Stable. Mostly confident. Mostly optimistic. I'm not used to not being beat down emotionally by my dad, by depression, by PTSD, by despair.
It feels so weird.
I think I like it.