Oh, how wonderful it would be if I could cruise around in a tinfoil hat. One that would keep out all the pesky thoughts that are so LOUD. I’m sure some of you know what I’m referring to. The negative buggars lurking around to smack us down when we’re striving to reach the moon and stars.
I could also use the hat as a signal to my cohabitors, that I’m trying to hold on and process information, so it’s best to abstain from asking questions–unless absolutely necessary. Small talk isn’t wise, and asking me to make a decision would be a no-no as well.
Obsessing over the findings that Blunt Oncologist feels are suspicious is not consuming my thoughts. What is bothering me is that I’m feeling sorry for myself. BUT, not in the way some would think.
My husband lost his father a week ago. Four days later, I had to tell him that I didn’t exactly have a clean scan. I don’t know what the little findings are, and I can’t live in a world full of anxiety until I have further information to process–so I have chosen to avoid living that way.
I have consulted Dr. Google, and I’m thinking my old lady career should be a radiologist–or a writer of abstract studies. I don’t do this to diagnose myself, I do this so that I can pick up the nuances doctors throw out. I know what questions to ask.
My husband has a ton of decisions to make, a house in another state to prepare for sale, and other legal processes. He needs my support, but my mind is scrambled at the moment, and I’m unable to compartmentalize like I wish I could.
What’s bothering me……..
Why does it seem that my family and I are presented with mind numbing events which coincide?
Why can’t ONE thing happen, healing begins and is attained, before something else happens?
It’s nice to believe positive thoughts are all I need to survive, and will help me with the battle in my brain, but it’s impossible to be little Ms. Positive Pants, 24/7.
I can be Ms. Positive Pants through my blog, on FB–which I don’t really use much, or in social gatherings. But when I’m alone, or with my husband, I have to fight the tears.
Not tears of fear, tears of defeat.
Not defeat that I may have further physical complications to deal with, as I believe it is what it is.
It’s defeat that I can’t make my mind do what I want it to do.
I have spent many years learning how to block thoughts. I have been successful blocking memories of gaffes I’ve made in my past, and I no longer beat myself up because someone told me I was ugly when I was 7, or I made some bad choices in my teens/early 20s.
Again, thanks to my therapist, I have learned to control most of my anxiety. At least enough to avoid the feeling of experiencing a heart attack, or that I will be removed to a “safe” place until I return to reality.
I can’t always be positive.
I can’t always be supportive.
I can’t always be happy.
On the flip side…
I can’t always be sad.
I can’t always worry.
I can’t always be negative.
But I do need more time than “normal” people, to pull myself back together. Right now, it’s hard carrying on a conversation with anyone. This won’t last forever, but I need to allow it move through me.
Maybe, today is the day I make that tinfoil hat.