The real reason I'm afraid to feel happy? I'm afraid I will lose control. Control of what exactly, I don't know. The first thing that comes to mind is control of all the shit I've been hanging onto. I call that shit The Blob.
The fear of losing control is as dangerous as the disease itself.
Fear keeps us doubting instead of hoping. Looking down instead of up.
There is this Blob inside of me. A huge black creeping Blob. Sometimes I can keep it at bay, but the moment it thinks I'm starting to feel something good, it pours out of its hiding place and suffocates those good feelings. At first it's a trickle. I can feel it coming out, but I'm still feeling good enough that I can fight it off. But, the more I fight, the bigger the flood. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. If I fight The Blob, it fights back. If I don't fight The Blob just takes over anyway.
My therapist says I need to learn to love The Blob. That sounds like the strangest and scariest thing I've ever heard. Love The Blob? Love this thing that tells me I'm worthless and don't deserve happiness. I've been trying to tell The Blob to fuck off. Sometimes it works. But, it's always there. Lurking.
Maybe I just need to accept The Blob. Let it have it's time. Let it grieve all that it needs to grieve. Tell it that it is still a good Blob despite its imperfections. But how do I love this thing that isn't perfect?
I used to think my marriage was perfect. But guess what, I found out its not. Like any other marriage, it's had its challenges the last few years. My solution? End it. But my husband loves me. How does he do that? How does he love me despite not being the perfect wife? I feel like I have failed. Failed miserably. But, the funny thing is, he's the one that feels like he failed. He wanted to follow his dream and because of that he thinks he failed his family. And I think I failed because he thinks he failed us. I've got to let go of that. I can't blame myself because he feels guilty about chasing his dream. He has to own that guilt all by himself. Could I have done things better? Probably. Would it have made him feel less guilty? No.
Why am I taking on everyone else's shit? I keep trying to find excuses for the reasons my mom failed so horribly as a parent. People say it's my mom and she gave me life and raised me. I suppose technically she gave me life, but she screwed it up pretty bad too. I'm pretty fucking pissed about it too. I keep wanting to protect her from my anger. I guess because deep down I know she did the best she could. As much as she said she wanted to break the cycle with me and raise me differently, she didn't. But, at the same time she did. She saw me as a miserable teenager that was in desperate need of help. She got me help and I'm the person I am today because of the help. Except that she wants a freaking cookie for getting me the help. That was her JOB, as my mother, to get me help after screwing me up. But she wants me to thank her. What the hell?
Well, that was a lot to unload. Maybe now I can sleep. Or maybe I need some more wine.
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