The Difference a Day Makes

I had lunch with Lydia today. She's aware of some stress in my life that I haven't discussed here. She told me she's concerned I might have another breakdown. I laughed. A breakdown takes more energy than I have. I might go catatonic for a few days. That's as good as it gets. I'm not dramatic enough to have a nervous breakdown. Besides, I'm too busy.

Today I ran five miles, accompanied musicians, attended a very long rehearsal, and met with some business associates who are trying to negotiate a contract with me. Then I had lunch with Lydia, came home and cleaned my house, and gave a recital tonight. That sounds like a productive day.

And so--I'm reminding myself, as instructed, that I'm making progress. I think I am. I just don't have time to do anything else. And besides, it's what I do.

But in the meantime, while I'm making all this progress, I'm not sure what it is.

PTSD has similarities to manic depression in that it waxes and wanes. Sometimes the symptoms are overwhelming. And when they finally subside, it feels wonderful. It has similarities to depression and social anxiety disorder as it causes those who enjoy it to feel stress about social interaction and to wish for solitude. But the truth is, PTSD is all about relationships. It's about how one feels as he or she allows others to be a part of their lives. It's about wanting to trust, but not knowing how, wishing for closeness (and sometimes even allowing it) but being to afraid to let it last. It's about feeling that no matter the amount of trying, one can never measure up, be worthy of another person's affection or friendship. It has nothing to do with reality. And it seems to be able to destroy any relationship even when both parties wish it to continue.

Thus far, I've been able to avoid that. But the effort of controlling some of the impulses, of insisting I interact when I'd rather avoid, is causing me to be more exhausted than I've ever been before. I need some sort of emotional vitamin supplement, or some sort of energizer so that I can keep trying.

Writing this feels completely lame. I feel exactly the same as when people learn about my eating disorder and say, "Well, that's easy enough. Just eat," only this time I assume they'll say, "Well, that's easy enough. Just be friends (or in love, or a parent, or a human being...)." But it's not easy--not for me. And the kicker is, I really don't want to fail. But I also don't know how to succeed.

Maybe it's not about succeeding, though. Maybe it's simply about survival--my own and that of my relationships.

I'm done thinking about this tonight. It's too hard. And I'm too tired.