Just the other day, I was thanking the pharmaceutical fairies for the combination of drugs I’m taking. I thought to myself…I finally feel like me.
Ha! Who am I?
I’m a wife, mother, friend, coffee lover, cat lover, compulsive knitter, an avid Seattle Seahawks fan, a cancer survivor, and a little bit of a klutz. A lover of the mountains and the outdoors. An amateur photographer, wanna-be woodworker, a daughter, sister, a niece, aunt and great-aunt. I love gin and tonic or a glass or two of wine every now and then. I have a weakness for ice cream and popcorn. An aversion to exercising, but like to take bunny hill hikes.
But, seriously, who am I?
I have spent the majority of my adult life listening to negative mind chatter, and acting how I thought others wanted me to act. I had a huge secret to hide, and children to raise. No room for depression or anxiety to allow others to view.
My husband told me a story this morning about a tortured soul, acting on an inner rage against another person, and ultimately themselves. My very first thought was omgosh! Both people are a husband/wife, father/mother, sister/brother, son/daughter. (I don’t know the sex of the victim or the other person involved) I tried to push the thoughts from my mind as tears spilled over my cheeks.
Gloom hung in the air.
Why do events like this happen?
I could continue to obsess over the ugliness that happens in our world, or I can choose to spend my energy helping someone else. I have to help myself first, otherwise I’m of no help to others.
Overwhelming sadness has always created obsessive type of thinking for me, which eventually turns into feelings of hopelessness. But today, my reaction is that of an average person. I’m very sad, and my heart aches for the families and friends of the two individuals, but I don’t have one foot on the edge. I’m not feeling myself slip into the pit of depression.
As I was out and about today, sporting my Seattle Seahawks fan gear, I smiled at everyone I crossed paths with…it’s all I had to offer. Because it’s considered cold in the state of Georgia, I wore a coat, but had to take it off when I was in the stores. (why must they set the temperature to bake?) An older man asked me if I was enjoying the Spring weather. We chuckled, and went on our way. The only gaffe of the day was knocking over a small store display.
I’m grateful for the rewards of the consistent efforts I’ve made over the past two years. I may not know who I am or who I want to be, but I’m happy to be me.