Why can’t you just be happy?

(about 1:27 is where my post title came from)

And the answer is: I don’t know.

Of course, I’m happy in some respects.  I am married to the best man on earth.  I have wonderful friends.


I have a predisposition to the sad.  Pinpointing a target of a date or a time or an event that brought it on? Impossible.  My father always used to say I was an overly-sensitive kid.

Years later, I’ve been diagnosed and re-diagnosed, and been put on and off various meds.  Save for the Xanax, I’ve been med-free for about 4 years now.  I cope the best I can.

Some days, it’s harder than others.

I should probably throw my ass back into therapy; I should probably get back on some meds.  But that requires time and effort and money.  I was lucky, years ago – I had a psychiatrist that had office hours starting at 4am.  I didn’t have to take time off of work.  At the time, I was also living with Mom and Dad, so I had less expenses.

I was on a cocktail of meds that made me stable-ish, and made me skinny-ish.  I miss those days so hard.

I’m the person that somehow thinks that happiness can be found at the bottom of a giant bowl of cereal, or pasta.  Or at the end of an empty bag of tortilla chips.  Servings for 4, go into 1 of me.  It’s not normal, it’s not healthy, but it’s a cycle that has perpetuated since I was a kid.

And so, I try and counteract it. Whatever you can think of – I’ve done it.  I don’t like to admit these things out loud.  But if you think hard enough, you’d figure it all out.  And clearly it’s all worked, since I’m so SVELTE.  *eyeroll*

I’m probably the worst person in the world to be friends with.  I’m moody and unreliable.  I like my patterns and my routines – breaking away from that is TERRIFYING to me sometimes.  I’m very anxious.  Sometimes, it’s easier for me to just withdraw.  Since I’m usually the happy one, when I’m not…it’s usually best I stay scarce.

Work is very stressful.I know I’ve mentioned that a lot.  And I hate to bitch about it, because hey, I’ve got a job.  So I should just suck it up and deal and be thankful. But the 9, 10 hours days with barely time to pee, let alone eat lunch…it gets to me.  It’s a rare treat when I get to leave the office during lunch.  I have friends who want to meet up and grab some grub and the few times that I’ve been able to, I’ve been distracted by thoughts of “Oh GOD, what’s going on at the office?  What am I missing?  How much will I have to do that has piled up in the hour that I’ve been gone?”

And the calories, OH THE CALORIES.  Eating is a huge part of being social – lunch, dinner, happy hour.  And I’m just consumed by guilt, because I should only be eating 1400 calories per day MAXIMUM and this is making me go over and I’m over my allotment and geez, if I could just control myself…

I cried myself to sleep last night.  I consider myself a failure.  I’m failing at work, I’m failing at friendships, I’m failing at my efforts to diet.  I walked in circles around the house.  Opened the refrigerator door and closed it more times than I can remember.  I got a bag of chips out of the cabinet, took a chip out, then put it back.  I scratched my arms, rubbed tears out of my eyes, and I told Eric that I look like Jabba The Hut.  That’s how I see myself.

I’ve been sickly this week. Weird nausea, lightheadedness, headaches, stomach flu-ish-ness.  Doesn’t make a stressful, bad-self-esteem-ish, fatty-boombalatty, oh-my-god-will-the-phone-EVER-stop-ringing-what-the-hell-do-you-want-from-me, kinda week any easier.

Recent weeks have been filled with bad news and stress and just general shitasticness for a lot of folks in my world, and I don’t like it at all. That’s adding to my general downtrodden mood.  I’m in this mood of just being so angry, so frustrated and so tired.

I want to punch people in the face, and then I want to hug people.  I want to cry and scream and just have someone understand.  I feel helpless, I feel useless.  I’m disgusted by myself.  I want to be okay.  I don’t know how to be okay.

But I’m trying.  As far as you know, I’m a-okay.

I mean this, I’m okay.

About meredithelaine

forty-something. jersey girl in texas via california.
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