I’m thankful for them, yet I hate to be a worry. This week at least two friends have asked if I am okay. They were legitimately concerned. Which means I am showing the outward signs of not being so. Here’s the thing……. I am fairly decent at hiding the down and outs of everyday life. If I’m having a bad day? I’m probably not going to tell you. Maybe even if you ask. I’ll just mumble something and/or change the subject. My kids hate it when I change the subject. As does my mother. It’s a trait of mine though. No one’s perfect.
What is wrong with me? Anything? Everything?
Honestly, I’m not exactly sure. A culmination of many things, I suppose. Nothing I won’t muddle though. Nothing I cannot deal with. Nothing major affecting me, personally.
News. News from friends who are struggling. A funeral last week for a kid. Those are weighty issues.
My health insurance. The rigmarole involved in getting it all straight. Just when I think I have it figured out….phone call. Adjustment. Must be done by December 15…. I hate dealing with it. It stresses me. Then I realize this is a momentary struggle. There are people going through much, much worse than trying to get an answer from Anthem.
The holiday season. Most wonderful time of the year? I had talked myself into thinking it is. This year. But then. Situations and circumstances. And the ever present reminders that life as I knew it pretty much fell apart over the course of a holiday season. Or many holiday seasons. Which means it’s hard to be “up”.
I asked myself if I’m depressed. I shudder to even go there. Because isn’t depression a clinical term? At least it seems to be. And I am not at all qualified to self diagnose or make light of anyone’s situation if they truly are depressed because who knows? Maybe I’m just a little down and will bounce back. Soon.
I came home to an oversized letter in my mail box. It was the third long day in a row and of course, when I spot something out of the ordinary in my mailbox…..especially during the Christmas season….I can’t help but think….it’s a present of sorts. Someone has mailed me something. But alas. It was a piece of mail addressed to my ex-husband. From a local non-profit in which our entire family….all four of us….were one time involved as volunteers. Probably about seven years ago. My ex-husband was on the board for a while. My guess is it’s an end of the year financial appeal. It’s that time of year….and I have a bit of experience in the non-profit world so I am safe to assume. Strangely I know the director there. I could call her and nicely ask her to please change his address. Let her know, in case the rumor mill hasn’t reached her…..he no longer lives in the same home as me. He has a new one. So please, please figure out his new address and change your mailing list. My guess is it was automatically generated from an old list. I am not mad. Not at her or her organization. Only frustrated that I cannot escape. I cannot get away from the reminders. Of how things were and how things are. And how very different. And even if things are better, much better now, I have been through some very dark days to get here. And frankly, I do not want to deal with his mail.
I think our emotions, thoughts, feelings….are fragile. We don’t know exactly what will cause us to go into a meltdown. Until we experience it. Until someone or something reminds us we are not as _________ as we thought we were. Our place in the world, status, whatever you want to call it. Our perceived placement, at least in our minds, can be thrown off so easily. By a response. Or no response. Or a package in the mail that in the grand scheme of life means very little. Or it should mean very little to us but it ends up meaning so much because we realize we are still broken and sometimes very much alone. Despite the friends who check in. Despite the caring people who invite and include and encourage. Some losses take longer to process through than we planned. And some, even though we’re past, done with and over…..subtly remind us we are, in fact, human.