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Mama and the Meaning of LIfe...Patterns

Posted by Shay Sweet on April 17, 2006, at 18:28:30

The subject line is actually the title of a book by Irvin D. Yalom; I just borrowed it because it seems appropriate. I have tried several times over the past three years--yes, I said YEARS--to post some kind of plea for advice, help, answers, etc. But my three year old daughter doesn't let me type, and at night time, I slump over in the chair in exhaustion when I try.

It's now 48 hours since I started this post/thread, so that in itself shows the utter lack of time management skills present here. Notice I didn't say time, but time management. I'm sure I have all the time and resources in the universe to make my daughter's and my life spectacular; it's the cognitive function in my brain that keeps me from achieving any real, measureable goals.

That and whatever damage I added by allowing myself to become dependent on Opioids, Benzodiazapenes, Antidepressants and Phentermine (aka Adipex--a diet pill for short term aid in obese patients for which I far exceed time limitations).

I have always felt despondant though. With or without medications/self-medicating, I have had these feelings. The meds simply push the feelings down and torture me instead with horrible side effects, the worst of which is weight gain. Because if you take all of the other things about me that are screwed up, they could all be overlooked if I were 50 lbs lighter. And I'm not just fantasizing about some unobtainable false reality; I actually got by being nearly incoherent before I gained weight. And I was a bit overweight before that too, so I've seen every side of the coin. Only now, I will be turning thirty in August, and mentally I feel stuck at twenty something. It's true that we cease maturing as adults at the age we begin stifling our feelings with our compulsions. There is no room to grow if we suppress the inevitable. We simply slow down and fall behind, becoming shadows of our former selves.

Family members take notice but are too afraid to say anything to your face because it just makes you feel worse about yourself.

So on and on I go in this pointless race, refusing to see the truth, which is not what I would like for it to be: a picture of my former physical self, free to hop in my unaffordable car and feel the breeze blow through my fingertips while songs of stomping on hurt and beating the ugly demon that held me back for so long blare on the radio or CD player, creating a high that no chemical could touch.

I feel so trapped!

If I could just taper off of Methadone somehow, without feeling miserable, I could enjoy a beer again! Maybe even go to the bathroom! Now I really am fantasizing.

Anyone know what I'm talking about? Anyone care? Feedback is so welcome.

I am actually going to finish this post! I don't know where my parents took my little girl after supper, but I know they're pissed that I wasn't home from work in time for supper. My job is so hard...I've been there for nearly three weeks, and I can't seem to stop asking the same questions, which is no doubt tiring to the girl I replaced who just wants to dig in to her new position without me chained to her ankle every three seconds.

What's wrong with me? Why is it so damn hard for me to pay attention to directions and absorb them? Shoot, even in kindergarden I had to see a shrink for 'daydreaming,' who told the school I was too smart for kindergarden. Either the good talking doctor's assessment was way off, or my mom made that up so the neighbors wouldn't think she raised a dummy. Always so concerned with what other people think. I wish she would let an emotion spill once in awhile.

Peace Out--
Shay


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poster:Shay Sweet thread:634251
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/subs/20060205/msgs/634251.html