My mom worries about me sharing too much of myself over the internet. She cautions me to play my cards closer to the chest and not let anybody in on what's going on with me. While I can see where she's coming from, that's just never been me. I've always been emotional. I've always been a sharer. There have been times in my life that I tried to be different and it made me miserable. It made me depressed. I can't just hold things in. I need to tell people what's going on with me. I need the honesty. Sure, it opens me up to judgements and criticism but I'd like to think I've done a pretty good job at eliminating people from my life who can't be understanding or supportive. Plus, I've gotten pretty good at taking an appropriate perspective when something negative gets through anyway. Usually I'm able to say, "That person doesn't know me/what they're talking about" or "That person is obviously going through their own stuff and this has nothing to do with me."
So, that offers a bit of context about what I need to write about. Alex is unhappy. I knew he was unhappy when my alarm went off. It was storming so I obviously couldn't do my five mile run. I turned back in and I could hear the annoyance in his voice when he asked it I'd do some other exercise. I went back to sleep and had a wedding nightmare - everything went wrong and time was flying and I was about to scream when I woke up. Scumbag brain. I'd been freaking out about the wedding on and off for various reasons, but I had recently gotten a hold on it. Anyway, Alex was coming back into the room from his shower and I told him about the nightmare. I could still hear that same tone in his voice but I was able to dismiss any further thought process about it because I knew he'd been out of his medication for a couple of days. I figured this was just his normal funk when he's out of meds. He figured that, too.
... then he started texting me and letting me know some of what was on his mind. He was concerned about my skipping out on running (which I did do a bit last week as well). He was annoyed at my messiness. He was concerned about the time I spend watching shows and on my phone. He doesn't know what I'm passionate about, why I don't spend time on things I'm passionate about in the house. What bothered me more than anything else he had to say is that he didn't think he could say any of these things to me. He had received the message at some point that he can't say certain things to me or at certain times. I know this is a message he's received from his upbringing and it has little to do with me, but it still hurts to feel like I'm being compared to the monster of his childhood. Here comes scumbag brain again, chiming in with, "You know, he's been off his medication for a couple of days and all of a sudden he's letting you know things he doesn't like about you. I bet he's not even depressed. I bet he just hates being with you, and you make him depressed." Augh. Way to hit me right in the self-esteem, scumbag brain. I mean, I was able to defeat the thought pretty quickly but too late. Damage done. My heart hurts and my eyes are tearing up.
This is why I hate being an adult sometimes. There are times like these I want to pout and stamp my feet and crawl away inside of a hole and never come out. I can't do that. I have to go back to work and I have to be productive. What's more, I know better and I've learned skills around coping with these thoughts. I really don't have the luxury of indulging these immature feelings and thought processes but you know what? Sometimes I wish I did. Sometimes I wish I could. Sometimes I just don't want to be an adult.
... but that's just what scumbag brain wants. It wants to derail me and destroy me and make me think it's justified. Because I suck. Because I'm garbage. Because no one ever has or ever will love me. Because there's something wrong with me. Ugh, stop it scumbag brain. This is so childish.
Alex is worried about my mental health. He thinks I might be depressed. I'm a mental health professional, and I'm looking over the DSM V thinking, "but I don't meet this criteria." Then again, I did feel a slight mood lift at the same time I started taking the Wellbutrin compound medication. I don't know. I'm always telling my clients that you are often the worst person to observe yourself because the biases are inescapable. Maybe I'm too invested in believing I'm not depressed. I really don't know.
What I do know is, I hate my scumbag brain and I need it to shut up right now. The adults are talking. The adults are working this out.
