A thought crossed my mind today. One which pioneered its own line on the thought train railroad. “Maybe my heart is too big to give to just one person?”
For most of my life I have been alone. I have difficulty trusting people, especially women, to provide sanctuary from the grief in my own soul. I have my reasons. Being cheated on when you pour your heart into someones life is painful. The emotional pain fades with time but the psychological scars run deeper for me than anything else.
She got married a short while ago I heard. Im happy for her but I hope shes learned how to keep a promise.
Even after all that I still want to be able to show someone how much they are loved. I want to show them how much they are needed. I don’t want them to walk the emptiness of a house night and day as I have. At the same time though I do not feel any of this will be enough to fulfill her and she will quit on me…just as they all have before.
So what if my thought is true? What if my heart is too big for one person? Should I leave this life behind and serve the poor? Should I love them instead as our Lord loves us all?
You can tell which of my posts I actually sit down to write on a computer versus the ones I throw together with grammatical vomit on my smartphone. It’s a pretty noticeable difference. Lately though there’s been a lot of “grammatical vomit” around me in my day-to-day experience as well. Many different thoughts race through my head as I am continuing to experience withdrawal symptoms following my cessation of an anti-depressant medication. More feelings of anxiety and uncertainty tend to creep in on an inconsistent basis which means even though I quit paying admission, I’m still riding the roller coaster.
Most of what I feel is physical. I am still subject to the same headaches I would suffer when I tried to quit cold turkey last spring for the third time. It didn’t bother so much if I could keep myself busy but since I changed jobs from blue to white collar I find myself unable to ignore the pain. Wearing khaki slacks, a collared shirt, and sitting in a cubicle is bad enough. When you add an embedded pain seated inside of your skull that feels like someone is squeezing the left hemisphere of your brain with a bench vice it makes it that much more enjoyable. Really though it’s not as bad as it used to be when it felt like someone was yanking up on my eyeballs from the inside out. (This is usually how I deal with things, latent optimism with a heavy helping of sarcasm.)
The other portion, emotions, is the easy part really. Sure I tend to over analyze social interactions causing depressive thoughts and I because I physically feel like dog shit I tend to alienate my friends and family and spend more time alone but it won’t be like this forever right? Relationships can always be fixed right?….Right?
All of this internal battle is really frustrating. I keep wanting to be instantly gratified and freed from my suffering. I feel like I deserve it after all the hell from within I’ve numbed over the last 9 years. The medication sure did the trick by keeping me from offing myself but I really don’t recall a strong warning from my psychiatrist saying it was going to beat the functionality right out of my liver. My parents do but all I could think about at the time was surviving. Now that I’m on the other side of cessation I ask myself, “was it worth it?” I cannot answer definitively.
I feel like I’ve been cheated. Why can’t I be perpetually happy? If I can’t be perpetually happy why can’t I take medication that doesn’t give me liver cirrhosis? If I can’t get such a medication why can’t I function without jitters and depressive uncertainty? Nobody knows. What I do know is that I’m not getting off the ride anytime soon so I had better get a tighter grip.