My typical emotional continuum ranges something like this:
I need a damn nap <-> Where is my Britney CD? <-> I can haz cheeseburger?
The elements change places somewhat, but really, I have the emotional range of a turnip and the depth of a small puddle of mud. I’ve always considered this to be something of a bragging point.
When I stuck my toe into the waters of mental health this summer before realizing that my mental health benefit blows ass, I made mention of this to my therapist, and rather than giving me a nice purple lollipop, he seemed alarmed.
Apparently, requiring a stunt double to cry isn’t a good thing.
Anyway, the one thing I learned in my appointment is that I needed to start at square one and relearn all about emotions. Nothing makes you feel more like Gimpy the Clown than realizing that you don’t know anything about actual emotions.
Perhaps I should go back to preschool and relearn colors too (because I’m colorblind too).
(no, really, shut up)
Part of Bringing Aunt Becky Back is trying to figure out who I am now.
My life took a different path when I inadvertently got knocked up with my firstborn at age 20. While my friends (and ex-boyfriend, his father insert other term here) were out crawling bars, I was dealing with colic, late night feeds, and a special needs child.
I scrapped my life’s plans to go to nursing school, which I hated. I graduated with high honors anyway. Got married, and domesticated, even though I’d never wanted that either. Stayed at home where I’d always wanted to be the one who did something else with her life.
I’ve never, ever done the things I wanted to do because it never made sense. I’m not sad about it, and I’m not sorry about it.
These are all facts, pure and simple. Dave knows them, I know them, everyone knows them.
But I’ve also never given myself the chance to feel anything about it. There are people in the world with no feet, after all, so how could I feel sad that I ended up where I put myself?
I should have given myself the opportunity to grieve the dreams that I gave up to do something else. Even if other people would kill to be where I am, I am not other people.
I can feel a change coming down the line. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is permanent except for change, and what I’m going through right now is growing pains. Something big is on the horizon. I can feel it.
Or maybe it’s just a cheeseburger and a nap.
Oh. And I want that purple lollipop now.