Fake It, Then Make It

It’s been an interesting couple of days to start my week. I’m kind of here and kind of not. I’m currently trying to decide where I am at in my for lack of better term, “safety plan” until the old white dude is back.

 

Like, the work stuff is complicated and annoying. It’s causing a ripple effect that it seems only I can see. Parts of it others are finding, but I honestly feel like I am the only one seeing some of the effects from the event. It’s frustrating because it is a hella big, emotional upheaval. I’m not going to try and say that it isn’t. I’ve seen words I have written being put out for the world to read, minus my name, but I know it’s something I did. I know all the details that weren’t published. I can remember everything and it hurts me. It hurts me on so many levels. However, I don’t feel like I can express that at all. I feel like I need to put a stronger face on than I would normally. Add in the fact that I want to be seen as the male I feel I am, I feel the odd pressure to not have emotions even more than I already do.  It’s difficult and I wish it wasn’t so bad.

 

Here I am, just trying to get through til next week. I don’t want to appear weak and call for help. It’s frustrating as all can be for me, because I want to get help and I want to be better. On the other hand, here I am sitting and asking for help kicks in a whole different level of guilt and pain for me. I feel like I am wasting his time and everyone else’s time because why can’t I take care of myself. I mean, this stuff is simple and not emergency level, it’s not like life or death. It’s just… it’s there. I feel like I should just be able to take  a deep breath and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

 

I realize though, it couldn’t have happened at a worst time for me personally though. Here I am, spending days fighting with my teenage self and trying to keep my grown-up in charge. I’ve lost grip on that, over and over, and it shows. It shows on a lot of levels. I know it and I think some people around me have also noticed, but I am doing my best to keep it hidden just like I used to.

 

——–

 

So I went half way with a phone call. I did not ask for my therapist to be called. I did speak with another person just a little. It helped at least reign in my anxiety enough that my meds could take over and do what they are supposed to do.  I am not entirely sure what rocketed me so high that my meds couldn’t do a damned thing. It was like my body was fighting not only me, but them as well.

 

I’m.. stable. I am stable for the moment. I honestly think part of it was that I needed to be able to unload just a little bit of the build-up to someone who has no idea about it, but who is covered in a way that screw it, I’m talking with. It’s not like I’m throwing details everywhere, but I was able to say why things bothered me. I was able to be almost honest, because I’m only 100% with my therapist and that’s just me, and just know that they weren’t going to come back with their own views on it. I think that’s what my brain needed just for ten minutes.
It is not like I am completely okay. I am going to fake it til I make it on this. There is no other option. I have no choices here. I have to just put the armor on and keep going. I might end up broken at the end, but as long as people don’t notice, then what difference does it make?

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