Last.Damn.Call

I find myself evolving over time. I don’t want to come across as some wack-a-doodle new age weirdo. What I mean is the longer I have remained clear- headed and sober, I find that I am learning new ways to think and feel and react.

At work the other day, I was talking about how frustrating people can be. How easily I could respond to someone with an angry comment or sarcastic remark. But how it is ultimately easier to just be nice and choose kind words. How I have rarely regretted being kind, even to a fault. And how being angry may seem easy at the time, but it stays with you a long time, and not in a good way. I almost immediately said, “Who the hell just said that? Did that come out of my mouth?” Like it was an outer body experience or something.

But seriously. Who am I? I am a person with a long history of being a nice person trapped in a jerk’s body. I have spent so much of my adulthood holding on to grudges and feeling wronged. I have spent too much of my life being mad to put it as simply as possible. And to what end? Did being angry and hateful somehow magically morph me into a happy person? Duh. No. Of course not.

I refuse to go down the poor pitiful me path any longer. I have traveled that road for many years and ended up going nowhere. Nowhere good at least. It is easy for me to blame a lot of life decisions and consequences on a poor home life as a child. As someone who was raised by mentally ill people. As someone who was left to fend for herself at a young age. As someone who never really belonged. And, you know what…that’s all a load of crap.

I know plenty of people who came from nothing and didn’t end up addicted to drugs. I know plenty of people who grew up in the midst of abuse and never turned to alcohol. I know plenty of people who got their act together and kept their shit together through deaths, divorces, financial ruin, and a friggin’ pandemic for crying out loud.

Not me. I held it together for many years after my mom died, when my dad lost his effing mind and married some freak show of a woman, and my sister married and divorced and married and divorced many a dipshit. Then I just let myself slip away. That’s the only way I can explain it. Drinking was numbing. Drinking was easy. Drinking was a solution. Of course, we all know how that story ends. For Every Single Person. Every. Single. Time.

Here’s the thing. As all this “slipping away” was happening, I had a loving husband and healthy children. Wonderful in-laws. Friends and a great support system through my church. But it was not enough. I think a melt-down was inevitable. And when we think of that word “meltdown” we picture some dramatic Hollywood version of the woman who walks out of a job, trashing desks on the way out, flipping off her boss, and drinking wine from a bottle on the drive home. In all honesty, I did do some of those things a few times (not my proudest moments) but that’s really not what I mean by a meltdown.

It can look like a mom sitting in the bathroom floor crying because she is overwhelmed. It can look like a man sitting in the silence of his car trying to figure out how to pay the rent that month. It can look like a lot of different things to different people. It isn’t always the dramatic, crazy image we have in our head.

What I want to get across in this tiny rambling from my head is that it is okay to ask for help before you get to meltdown central. Even if your issue on hand seems insignificant, ridiculous, or even something you think you should be able to handle on your own. Call me. Call someone. Reach out. Most people with a brain and heart can relate to feeling overwhelmed (and quite honestly, they are lying if they say they can’t relate). Most people can relate to feeling the need to simply speak to another human being. Sometimes a 5-minute conversation can help you reset. Feel less crazy. Breathe a little bit.

Who said that? I did. It’s so cliche but it is okay to admit you are not okay. And this doesn’t make you weak or less than, but we all go through things. Seasons of doubt. Times of sadness. Feelings of being unimportant or even insignificant. Just because you may not slip away into addiction, let’s be honest–mental health issues are a real thing. A real BFD. (BDD means big, damn deal, so I will let you guess what BFD stands for.) Admitting you may be slipping, just asking for a little help isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s power. I said that. Because if my writing helps one person, just one, then I was able to make a tiny difference today.