Oct. 28th, 2019 02:50 pm
The weight of the world
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muckefuckI started off today with a mental health crisis. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening. Despite getting a full night's sleep for a change, I thought maybe I was still worn out from staying up until 3 a.m. on Saturday. Then I thought maybe it was a cold. All I really knew was that the thought of simply getting up and getting myself ready for work seemed nothing short of overwhelming.
After having my tea and some cold cereal, I e-mailed my boss with the news that I would be in late. Then, as I sat in bed pondering my next move, the cat came and cuddled with me, which led me to try napping. I slept about an hour but woke up to find myself with the same dilemma.
I tried to think of who might be able to help me out of it and messaged my pal Dorkchop, who's a licenced therapist. That was apparently enough to get me out of bed and into the shower. Reading his encouraging responses brought tears to my eyes. I guess it comes as a pleasant surprised to find there's someone that invested in whether I make it out of the house or not.
I still dithered for another hour trying to figure out what to wear, since my plan was to attend the opera with my brotherbunj after work. I tried on two pairs of shows, two pairs of slacks, a vest and a suit jacket. After all that, I'd narrowly missed the 12:26 shuttle to work and ended up taking the 12:55, so what with leaving early, I'll only end up logging about three hours at my desk.
It's going to be a long three hours, I can tell. I still have that puppety feeling, like I'm a little person holed up inside a big person suit that I operate by strings. At least it was the push I needed to finally contact the Center for Grief Recovery and see about an appointment. (No response yet.)
As for what set it off, I'm not really sure, but it may have something to do with my phone call with my sister Sunday night. We're finally at a point with dealing with M.'s apartment and Dad's rehab woes (today may be his last paid day) that we could talk a bit about how we're coping with the grief. She was saying it "dribbles through" rather than coming in a flood. Maybe this is just a slightly bigger leak than I've dealt with so far.
After having my tea and some cold cereal, I e-mailed my boss with the news that I would be in late. Then, as I sat in bed pondering my next move, the cat came and cuddled with me, which led me to try napping. I slept about an hour but woke up to find myself with the same dilemma.
I tried to think of who might be able to help me out of it and messaged my pal Dorkchop, who's a licenced therapist. That was apparently enough to get me out of bed and into the shower. Reading his encouraging responses brought tears to my eyes. I guess it comes as a pleasant surprised to find there's someone that invested in whether I make it out of the house or not.
I still dithered for another hour trying to figure out what to wear, since my plan was to attend the opera with my brother
bunj after work. I tried on two pairs of shows, two pairs of slacks, a vest and a suit jacket. After all that, I'd narrowly missed the 12:26 shuttle to work and ended up taking the 12:55, so what with leaving early, I'll only end up logging about three hours at my desk.It's going to be a long three hours, I can tell. I still have that puppety feeling, like I'm a little person holed up inside a big person suit that I operate by strings. At least it was the push I needed to finally contact the Center for Grief Recovery and see about an appointment. (No response yet.)
As for what set it off, I'm not really sure, but it may have something to do with my phone call with my sister Sunday night. We're finally at a point with dealing with M.'s apartment and Dad's rehab woes (today may be his last paid day) that we could talk a bit about how we're coping with the grief. She was saying it "dribbles through" rather than coming in a flood. Maybe this is just a slightly bigger leak than I've dealt with so far.