So I've come to realize I can't trust my feelings on things right now. I went into shock when Blythe died and it's just now starting to wear off and some major grieving is going on. I've come to realize that I may well have been mistaking my feelings of friendship towards some people as more romantic feelings, a subconscious attempt to fill the void in my life. Because of this I've put pressure on people that I shouldn't have because of a misguided need to redefine my relationships. I've screwed up pretty solidly and that person isn't talking to me right now. I don't blame her.
A lengthy conversation with a friend has made me grasp just how badly the grief has been affecting me. A lot of my interests are waining. I used to be a several novels a week reader, lately I go days if not weeks without opening a book. I haven't written on my novel since Blythe hurt her knee and I have gotten to the point where this blog is the only type of journaling I can maintain. Spending time with my friends is the only thing that brings me close to contentment. Even spending time with my boys can be draining because they're both so far from self-sufficient and need so much looking after.
This same friend has pointed out that I might be subconsciously testing my friends. Shaking the friendships to see if they're going to last. That's made me realize that I'm terrified of losing my friends, to death, disaster or just my own stupid problems. Yet this same fear is making me push at them. It was a shocking revelation to realize that because I've never been the sort to manipulate friendships before. I feel a deep sense of shame to think that I might be testing my friendships. They don't deserve my doubt and suspicions. They don't deserve the paranoia that is so rampant when my medications aren't working properly. Yet I've subjected them to both.
I don't know how to figure out what I enjoy or want out of life. I'm struggling with being a student still, unsure if I want to continue on. I don't want to just abandon my education, but the thrill of learning has definitely ebbed on me. I used to think I wanted to be a teacher, but now that occupation feels hellish to even contemplate. There's a part of me that misses human service. Missing working with challenged teens and being the voice of discipline and reason in their lives. But even contemplating going back to work causes the desire to self-harm and suicide to go through the roof. I'm just not ready yet. Spending time with my friends is literally the only thing in my life that I can still say gives me pleasure. And I can't even do that very often because of their work schedules and my having to take care of my children. I can't join in on their trips to Ithaca or Syracuse, I can't go with them to the movies. I'm left behind at home because my children are too high maintenance to spend time with. Such is life.
A lengthy conversation with a friend has made me grasp just how badly the grief has been affecting me. A lot of my interests are waining. I used to be a several novels a week reader, lately I go days if not weeks without opening a book. I haven't written on my novel since Blythe hurt her knee and I have gotten to the point where this blog is the only type of journaling I can maintain. Spending time with my friends is the only thing that brings me close to contentment. Even spending time with my boys can be draining because they're both so far from self-sufficient and need so much looking after.
This same friend has pointed out that I might be subconsciously testing my friends. Shaking the friendships to see if they're going to last. That's made me realize that I'm terrified of losing my friends, to death, disaster or just my own stupid problems. Yet this same fear is making me push at them. It was a shocking revelation to realize that because I've never been the sort to manipulate friendships before. I feel a deep sense of shame to think that I might be testing my friendships. They don't deserve my doubt and suspicions. They don't deserve the paranoia that is so rampant when my medications aren't working properly. Yet I've subjected them to both.
I don't know how to figure out what I enjoy or want out of life. I'm struggling with being a student still, unsure if I want to continue on. I don't want to just abandon my education, but the thrill of learning has definitely ebbed on me. I used to think I wanted to be a teacher, but now that occupation feels hellish to even contemplate. There's a part of me that misses human service. Missing working with challenged teens and being the voice of discipline and reason in their lives. But even contemplating going back to work causes the desire to self-harm and suicide to go through the roof. I'm just not ready yet. Spending time with my friends is literally the only thing in my life that I can still say gives me pleasure. And I can't even do that very often because of their work schedules and my having to take care of my children. I can't join in on their trips to Ithaca or Syracuse, I can't go with them to the movies. I'm left behind at home because my children are too high maintenance to spend time with. Such is life.