Worry

I 100% accept every emotion I have felt in the last two months. I bring it on myself. For the worry, the anxiety, the everything-is-out-my-control psycho mental moments. I stepped up to the task of "handling" what needed to be handled. Because truly, who else was going to step up to that daunting task? Nobody, that's who. Whether it be lack of funds, lack of knowledge, or lack of giving of a shit there was no one else to take over and be The One In Control. I'm amazed that I've been able to accomplish what I have based on the fact that I know fuck all.

I have no one else to blame. Not a single soul. Could more people step up and play a stronger role in taking the million pounds of burden off of my shoulders? Sure, they could but I don't blame them for not doing it. Not their responsibility. And that is what gets me in the end. When did this become MY responsibility? Was it because she birthed me 30 years ago and attempted to raise me? I guess it is. Or was it because I made it my responsibility because I didn't want that burden on the shoulders of the people that I love, even though it hurts me every single day?

Not a day goes by that I don't think about it. Sure, there are plenty of days when I don't think about the entire ins and outs of the situation. Days when I refuse to acknowledge that there is still so much left to do, left to pay out, left to wonder about. Then the days that I do choose to face reality and the thirty seconds of "what ifs" run through my head so fast it makes me dizzy I am left with anxiety and a lump in my throat.

I hate her. I love her. I'm relieved. I miss her. I am angry. I am sad.

These emotions are present and they change constantly. One for the other, one no better or no worse than the other because they all equal pain.

I've realized that I have been avoiding having conversations or exchanging emails with my grandmother. It never brings good news and knowing that she is in full depression yet refuses to do anything about it pains me even more. I know she is hurting. Hurting more than any of us can know or can imagine. But what she doesn't know is that she is hurting me in return. I am the sounding board, I am the one she knows she can talk to and pour her emotions out to without judgement. Every therapist needs a therapist though. A person can only contain so much sadness before they themselves are brought down. So instead of telling her that I need more positivity in my life I don't talk to her much anymore. Besides, what is there to talk about? The weather? Yea, I know it's cold there. The news? It's all crap anyways. My mom? All we do is end up saying the same things over and over again. We get absolutely nowhere.

Until she starts making some major decisions I will worry. And for a person who isn't good at worrying so I never really did it, it's chipping away my soul. Day by day it eats a little part of me away. The old me who didn't worry, the old me who wasn't anxious constantly wondering when the next bad thing is going to happen. The new me waits every day and I'm thankful for the good times when Thomas hugs me tight and tells me it will all be okay, when I laugh, when my friends message me just to ask how I'm doing. I am grateful for the good that I'm given. More so than I can ever put into words.