Fragile

I should probably start this with a **TRIGGER WARNING** I talk about depression, anxiety, murder. Maybe no one should read this.

This time of year gets difficult for me. The holidays stress me out. The darkness depresses me. The coldness makes me want to retreat to my bed.

I've been worrying A LOT about things that haven't happened and, most likely, never will happen. But, god, life is so fucking fragile. One moment everything is fine and the next moment... Well, who knows? It really upsets me when I think of all the things that could go wrong at any moment. The smallest incident could have disastrous results.

If the car pulled a little too much to the left...

If someone nudged me on the train platform...

If someone broke into my apartment...

If the pharmacy mislabeled my drugs...

If one of us just stopped breathing...

There is nothing I can do about these things. Shit happens. But that's what worries me: shit does happen. All the time. Everything is going along just fine then some 14 year old kills you with a box cutter. Just like that. Just. Like. That. People always say that things don't always happen to someone else. That is a myth you tell yourself. Maybe it is the only way to go on. Because worrying that these things will happen to me is killing me. How do you get out of bed every day if you think "Shit. All of these awful things might happen to me today." You don't.

Rings

I still have all three rings: my engagement ring, wedding band, and his wedding band.

He got mad at one point and took his ring off, put it on top of the tv, then left the apartment. Thankyouverymuch! Sure, I'll take your ring. No problem.

I thought maybe someday Ryder would want the rings. Now I wonder why he would ever want them? Some symbols of a love that was thrown away? Why do I want them?

I should do something productive with them. See how much they are worth. Maybe get some cash, maybe some new jewelry. I don't know.

I think of them very infrequently. I think of him very infrequently. Sometimes I come upon something that I was saving just in case Ryder wanted it. Yeah, right. I just couldn't bring myself to dispose of it. That happens less and less nowadays. I come upon something, think what the fuck do I still have this for? Then I throw it away. It is better this way.

I need to go down into my basement and start throwing things away. And giving things away. Not just things from my failed marriage, but from when Ryder was a baby. Seriously, I do not need that stuff. Someone else can use it. There is a ton of stuff my ex-boyfriend left in my basement too. Something needs to be done with that stuff too. I told him I would keep it for him for a while, and I will, I just need to put it in a corner or something.

But the rings are still in my bedroom. Still safe and sound. Still in a kind of limbo. Now I am going to forget about them for another little while. Deal with it another day.



P.S. Come like my facebook page!

Mental Health and Work

I am very honest and open when it comes to my medications and my therapist. I do not share anything with anyone that I do not trust, but I do not shy away from saying that I have therapy Thursday nights. At work, I generally do not talk about myself but to a select few. My dad always taught me to keep work and home separate and not to assume a coworker is a friend. I have been lenient on this, I think, by making some real friends at work. Where else am I going to meet people?

Anyways, sometimes my dad is more right than I like to admit. Sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut more often.

My coworker and I have been very open with each other and she knows that I take medications and go to therapy. This is all fine. She made an off-handed comment, though, that I should try to come up with better ways to cope with stress. Now, I suppose that any friend or acquaintance could have said this and the fact that it was at work is, perhaps, inconsequential, but it did happen at work and that cannot be ignored. There is something about it. I think it is because you cannot just leave the situation like you could if you were at a party or something. When she made the comment, I just became kind of silent and she asked something about what my therapist thought of it and when I was silent again, I think she recognized her mistake. I quietly said everything was fine and the subject was dropped.

I know she is only trying to help, but it was not helpful. It was uncomfortable at best. I can't help but feel like this all happened because of my openness. If, perhaps, I was less open I would not have had this conversation where I now know I am being somewhat judged. I will certainly be more cautious next time.