Satisfied

I'll tell you the truth. I'm struggling. A lot. I feel like I'm having a (hopefully very early) mid-life crisis. I have a stable job that pays the bills, a loving husband who treats me well, a beautiful daughter that loves me and who I adore, and there are things finally happening in my life which I've been working towards for a while now. I feel like I should be happy. But I'm not.

Don't get me wrong, I have fun. I have many happy moments. I appreciate life and don't want to end it. But overall I've been spending a lot of time feeling sad, frustrated, unsure, and like I am not where I should be. I wonder if I am capable of just being satisfied with life, or if I am doomed to spend forever feeling like something is missing.

I know that something has to change. I can't live the rest of my life this way. But I don't know what. And I don't know how.

I wrote that towards the end of 2013, then published it in early 2014. I am no where near where I was back then - in time, place, life, feels! - but I still struggle with this, "I wonder if I am capable of just being satisfied with life, or if I am doomed to spend forever feeling like something is missing." I actually just said to a friend the other week that I identified very strongly with one particular part of Hamilton.

[HAMILTON] You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied
[ANGELICA] I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself
[HAMILTON] You’re like me. I’m never satisfied




A few weeks ago I was in a bad spot and I wrote this,

I feel like an unbalanced scale, ready to tip over and spill everything I contain. I’m an out of control car veering around Mountain curves, moments from careening over the edge and flying into the abyss. 

I listen to my music loud loud loud, so it rattles my bones and drowns out the noises in my head. And I listen to songs on repeat to they become the tempo of my insides. “You could dance like, we were all alright...”

My dad was diagnosed as bipolar when I was just a few years older then Gwen is now, and I think there’s always been this fear in the back of my mind. 

I lay in bed alone, and speak my truth out loud to the forgiving darkness. No condemnations come down, no bolts of lightning, the world keeps spinning. 

I'm not there anymore either, but I can finally see the pattern in myself. I have my first appointment with a psychologist in 2 weeks. Its funny, I've always been a huge believer in therapy for everyone, and am the first person to encourage others to go, but I've never been able to take that step myself. When I was at my worst I couldn't make that call, and when things were good I pretended I didn't need it. No more.

In some ways I'm an open book, happily answering any question you have for me, talking about the most intimate stories and feelings. But my depression and my dissatisfaction is something different. I can't talk about it (please don't try). The things I've written here are the most I've expressed it, and this post is probably the most direct so far. Writing is so much easier then speaking it out loud.

There have been plenty of changes for the better, steps taken this year, but this one I think will be the most important. Wish me luck.

Grace meets us where we are, but it never leaves us where it found us. - Anne Lamott