Being miserable is not sustainable

They say that no one can make you feel inferior without your permission, but when someone is virtually in charge of you or holds a measure of power over you, yes they absolutely fucking can. An abusive partner or parent can. A senior colleague or supervisor can.  A bully can. A person who holds more societal power than you absolutely fucking can make you feel inferior with or without your permission and pretending otherwise, putting on this sunshine power bullshit doesn't change the fact that one person can potentially make your life miserable and suck out your soul.

I've struggled with this in the past and I struggle with it now. Am I more susceptible to it because of my childhood abuse? I'm guessing the fuck so. Am I triggered by condescension and belittling, you fucking betcha. Is this something I talk about every two weeks in therapy? AYUP. But it will take lifelong work, this coping thing, and, in the meantime, I don't think it's necessarily up to me to own my power when I am forced to deal with dickwads who can't be bothered to be respectful.

It's victim blaming. That person or people make my life hell and have made me feel like shit, but that's my fault because I supposedly gave them permission? FUCK THAT.

Sounds like an excuse to let assholes be assholes.

Niceness is underrated.

So yes. over the last, oh I don't know, 8 months, my power and confidence and value have been slowly chipped away and I'm at this point now where I'm swinging between the poles of "FUCK THAT SHIT AND I AM TOO GOOD FOR THIS" and "I'm stuck here and I'm unappreciated and undervalued and, after years of building my reputation, I'm told I have to start all over and prove myself and that is EXHAUSTING and depressing and defeating and possibly just not worth it."

A year ago, I was being called a rock star. Today, I'm told I have to start to shine or I won't move forward. That's quite the dichotomy and I find it hard to believe that I am the one who has changed so much in a short time. So it chips away at me, little by little.

And, let's be honest, I'm not really dealing with the issues at hand here, because avoidance is so much easier. I cope. I power through. I "self care." But I don't actually deal with my shit. It's a lifelong defense mechanism that's helped me survive 37+ years of trauma, but let me tell you, friendos, that shit catches up with you.

Fifteen to ten years ago,  before my first round of therapy, it caught up with me with various mental and emotional and physical breakdowns. I've had rashes and fainting spells and night terrors and night paralysis (which is fucking terrifying). I collapsed from exhaustion. I've suffered months-long insomnia and panic attacks followed by bouts of depression. Not to mention the migraines and tension stored in my back.

Today, it's so much tension in my back and shoulders that I'm seeing a chiropractor to try to open all that shit up. Add in my shit hips from years of ballet and basically my whole back is super locked up and I'm in pain all the time. So much fun. I also get sick to my stomach every single morning. Shut up, you baby lovers! It's not morning sickness; it's anxiety. My skin is shit too. Luckily I'm sleeping this time because I smoke pot to sleep and it's a goddamn miracle drug.

And the panic attacks are back. Fun.

By Toby Allen 

And I have to fight this idea that I'm not strong enough for the adult world, that my mom hobbled me somehow with all her abuse, that I'll always be a little bit fucked up. Because, while maybe that's true and maybe it isn't, I work fucking hard and I don't think that I should have to kill myself to be valued and I don't think that I should have to accept mean people as a fact of life.

Mean people can go fuck themselves.

Also, can we let go of this idea that we have to kill ourselves with business to be valuable women? I don't think it's lazy to want to relax or to prioritize your life so that you're not constantly stressed out. This is why women die from heart disease! We're addicted to business, to stress, to spinning the wheels to prove we're good enough!

Yes, I'm made to doubt myself, but at the core of it, I know what I kick ass at. I know I'm a rock star. But if those people who hold my daily life in their hands refuse to see that, I think I'm not going beg them to. I can only worry about me.

And I'm DOING THE SELF CARE, though, dammit. I take the baths and I read the books and I make time for Me. But, as my therapist says, that's treating the symptoms, not the cause. Self care has become avoidance from the real shit.

Treating the cause, for me, is writing, putting my soul out on paper to examine. It's practicing mindfulness and it's laying myself out for my therapist to help me navigate what I'm ill-equipped to figure out on my own. It's really not pleasant, but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel good to do. It may be tough, but it releases a valve somehow.

I know I need to write more. It's so important. But finding the mental energy isn't easy, especially when my mental energy is being attacked so regularly. All I want to do at the end of the day is curl up in front of the TV or take a hot bath with a good book. I don't WANT to work more, especially when that work is examining myself, putting the essence of me under a microscope. It fucking hurts. It's necessary, but shit is it hard.

Is that desire to just do nothing depression? I don't know. I don't feel depressed. I feel tired. I feel exhausted, both mentally and physically. I feel the desire to just float on an empty sea under a hot sun and not worry about anything. Is that depression? Or is that a typical response to a shitty situation made worse by some lovely PTSD? I don't fucking know.

And I'm fucking pissed off that I'm dealing with this in what should be a joyful year. I'm planning my goddamn wedding and, instead of enjoying that, I spend more time crying and having panic attacks and weathering back spasms than relishing this fun thing I'll potentially only do once.

I don't know what to do next, friends, but something has gotta give. Being miserable is not sustainable.