broken

It just seemed everyone needed something from me and yet I was getting nothing in return.

My friends needed my advice, my support, my company.  My job needed me to create documents, get grades in on time, and plan lessons.  My part time jobs needed me two evenings a week.  My house needed to be cleaned all the time.  The groceries needed to be purchased.  The bills needed to be paid.  The money needed to come in.  The family needed to see me.  The dog needed a walk. 

Are you picking up what I'm putting down?

Here's what I needed: I needed to eat right and exercise.  I needed a new car.  I needed to do something for myself.  I needed a break.

So my brain just went ahead and took one without my permission.

I really feel like that is what happened.  But here's how it started:

New Year's weekend, I had a mini-meltdown in the Outer Banks and realized that I needed to let go of the things I couldn't change and change the things I could.

I feel like this is a good idea and the right sentiment, and I have written a great deal on the concept in another blog, so I'm not going to go into a great deal of depth about it here.

I quit smoking, started running, gave up drinking and attempted to eat better.

It went well for two weeks.  I was providing everything everyone needed from me and I was taking care of my health.

However, as it turns out, "taking care of your health" is more complicated than avoiding cigarettes and beer.

About two weeks in, I decided to start a diet.  Lose some weight.  Shed some fried chicken dinners from my thighs.

I drove to the grocery store, parked, and started crying.  It was the fifth time I had spontaneously lost it in a week. 

And I wasn't just crying.  I was hysterically crying. 

I left the parking lot.  I started to head home, but home felt like it was loaded with land mines.  It felt like the lonliest place on earth -- even though I knew Mike and the dog were home.  I didn't know where to go.  Like the other four meltdowns, I started driving.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to drive as far away as possible and just start over.  Go somewhere no one knew me or needed me or expected anything of me and just feel free to take care of only the things that mattered to me.

Instead I drove four blocks away to the river.  My mom, who had talked to me earlier and the day and suspected something was wrong, called while I was there.  I was so upset, I couldn't actually articulate any coherent thoughts.  My dad got on the phone and told me it was nicotine withdrawl.  I was pretty sure it wasn't.  I couldn't have cared less about a cigarette at that moment.  It was the last thing on my mind. 

EVERYTHING ELSE was on my mind -- all that wasn't done and needed to get done.  The dwindling savings account and the guilt of canceling on my tutoring job.  The phonecall I hadn't had time to return even though I knew my friend wanted my advice.  The diet I wasn't prepared to face and groceries I needed to buy.  Looming deadlines at work, and a weekend spent grading instead of cleaning.

And all the things I didn't have: money, a baby, security, peace.

I don't know who called him, but Mike showed up a little while later.  He took me directly to the doctor's office, and they immediately prescribed me drugs and a therapist.

And I disappeared for a while. 

You may have noticed.  Seems everyone did.  When I returned to the land of the living, my friends actually said "I needed you and you weren't there."

I said "I needed you and you didn't see it."

They admitted they didn't.  It was true.  I had to have a come-to-Jesus with a few folks who just didn't realize that they had asked and taken without giving or thinking.

But the bigger come-to-Jesus was with myself.  I had let the expectations get to me.  I hadn't let go of what I couldn't control.

So I started to.  I started to heal and get stronger and feel more like myself. Mike and I made compromises and supported each other and let the little things go.  We drank more and smoked more and had more fun.

And slowly the pieces were put back together again.