Musings · Uncategorized

When I worry about Nothing

I have anxiety. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never actually officially been diagnosed with it, I have it.

Like, right now I feel it. It’s like butterflies in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. I’m not doing anything stressful right now, in fact I’m just sitting in a chair, but the anxiety is there. My body clearly thinks something is wrong and my mind is starting to jump from one thought to another.

It’s slowly creeping in on me and I can’t stop it. I don’t know how to stop it. I’m trying to tell myself that nothing is wrong, that I have nothing to worry about, but my body isn’t listening to reason.

When I get like this, all I want to do is curl up, watch television or read a book, and forget about things for a while. I want my brain to shut off but, unfortunately I can’t do that right now. So, instead, I’m trying to figure out what the source of this anxiety is. Nothing is due, everything is organized, and there are no problems.

So why do I feel this way? And why is it getting worse?

If anything, I should be happy. Things are sort of starting to look up…they’re starting to get into order. I should be happy. But I’m not. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting to find out that something is wrong or I have to wait longer for my stuff to happen.

It sucks, being like this. Being worried and on edge all the time. It’s like when I have time to think about things, everything comes at me at once. This past weekend I was too busy to worry about things and I was enjoying myself. But now…now all I’m doing is worrying. About nothing, seriously. Not a damn thing is in my mind, and yet my mind is all static as though EVERYTHING is on it.

I don’t need anyone to tell me that I have anxiety because I can feel it. I can always feel it.

Musings · Uncategorized

The In Between Place

I’m stuck in the in between spot. Everything in my life, or at least most everything, is sort of up in the air. I don’t particularly like my job, and I’m working on a different career path but it won’t move anywhere until at least February, maybe afterwards.

My family’s adoption process is starting but I’m still waiting for finances to clear to make the appointment with the lawyer. I already had the physical needed, got the letters needed, and now I have to wait to make an appointment.

My writing…well I don’t even know what’s going on with that. I can’t seem to get the motivation/excitement to write but I still want to write. So, I’m stuck with that too.

I am not good at being in the in between spot. I’m quickly learning that I’m not a patient person and if something isn’t going on, if I’m not moving forward, I feel like I’m not accomplishing anything. And I get anxious, and depressed. I hate feeling like I’m not accomplishing anything.

It’s been like this for a while but every time I feel like I’m moving forward, for some reason it fizzles out. Or I get so overwhelmed with everything I think I “need” to do that I kind of short out and stop doing everything all together.

I don’t know how to let anything just work out on their own. I don’t know how to wait and see what happens. I think I keep getting in these in between spots because I’m so determined to try to control everything. That, and I hate the unknown. I hate it so, so much.

Usually I get all grouchy when I’m in the in between spot. But this time I’m trying to take it in stride. Every time I worry about getting things done and moving forward, I’m forgetting to enjoy what’s right in front of me now. Even if what’s in front of me isn’t exactly what I want right now.

I don’t want to miss out of things just because I’m worrying about what may or may not happen right away.

So I’m going to try to enjoy the in between space while I have it. Maybe I’ll even find something even more interesting in there! Maybe…

Musings · Uncategorized

Are you there, God? It’s Me, Melissa

Faith 9-21-17

Faith…probably one of the most talked about, and argued about, subjects. Well, no, that’s religion but sometimes faith and religion come in a package deal.

For some, faith is going to Church regularly. For others, it’s just talking to God (or whoever you might believe in) when you get a chance. I know my mother shows faith by saying the Novena for St. Theresa, her patron saint. She’s been praying to St. Theresa for as long as I can remember.

Faith and praying have always been very prevalent in my family, especially since I was born ill. My mother spent hours, days, weeks, and months praying for my health and praying that I lived long enough to have a life to live. I was brought up going to religious ed and I said prayers every night before I went to bed. To this day, when we sit down at my Mother’s house as a family, we say our dinner prayer.

But, I’m a little ashamed to say that my own faith has been weak at best. My whole life I’ve heard “God has a plan for you” and “Everything happens for a reason”. Growing up, I was told that there was a bigger purpose for me. That my disability and my surgeries were making me strong and shaping me in a way I didn’t know yet. I “had” to go through these difficulties because I wouldn’t be the person I am today without them.

Or at least I was told something along those lines. I was always told to have faith that things will be okay and the trust in God that he knew what he was doing. That He was going help me get to where I needed to go.

I believed that, one because my mother told me it and, two because I was so sick that I needed something to believe in. I wanted to believe that it was going to be okay and that I was made this way for a reason. I even had invisible friend/guardian angel, Michael (Ironically enough there was an actual archangel named Michael that I didn’t know about) that watched over me.

So, my whole life I was brought up to have faith. To believe that it would all be okay in the end.

Where did my faith go then, you ask?

It disappeared when I was twenty-four years old and found out I couldn’t have children. In fact, i could die if I tried to have children. The moment the words were out of my Doctor’s mouth is the same moment that my faith fell, shattering around me.

I thought, back then, if I had to trust in God to get me through, why was he so cruel to take away the one thing I wanted the most: A family. My family. Anything else I could’ve dealt with; I could’ve fought against. But this?

All I ever wanted was a family. I wanted a man who loved me despite my medical flaws, and children that I could love. I always pictured having a child, or two, and being a normal family despite everything. Graduating from college, getting a job, and having a family were my milestones: If I could get through everything and have that, I would be okay. I would make it.

And that dream, that wish I so desperately had, was ripped away from me and I hated God for it. I was so angry that he put me through hell my whole life, and then made it worse by not allowing me to have a family.

I hated him, and I hated my parents who knew all along that this could happen. I even hated my husband for sticking around even though I basically threw him out the door. I told him to find a woman who could give him a family, like he deserved.

For the four months from when I found out about my predicament, to when I had surgery to tie my tubes so I couldn’t accidentally get pregnant, I cried myself to sleep. I fell into a depression that I struggled to get out of.

And, like I said, I was angry. So, so angry. I didn’t stop believing in God, but i definitely stopped believing that he knew what was right for me. I stopped having faith that things would work out.

Even five years later, my Faith hasn’t come back. I don’t say my nightly prayers anymore and I can’t step into a Church. The last time I stepped into a Church, I think, was for my wedding. And that’s because it’s a family tradition to marry in a Church.

It’s hard to have Faith when everything seems to be falling down around you. When your dreams are extinguished and you don’t know where to go from there.

I would love to get my Faith back, trust me I would. I want to believe that everything is going to work out and it will be okay in the end. I would love to believe that there is a bigger force guiding me and protecting me. I would love to go to Church again.

I just…can’t.

Musings · Uncategorized



The question of the day: Are you expectations too high?

Well, let me tell you, that’s a loaded question…almost too loaded. Anyone who knows me knows that my expectations of myself are too high…waaaay to high. Definitely higher than my 4’10” frame. Unfortunately, there’s no way I can change that. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Being a disabled adult, I was always told that I could do anything. That I can be anything. My mother always assured me that there’s nothing that could happen in my life that would stop me from reaching my dreams. Also, my mother never treated me any differently than she did my sisters. If I did something wrong, I got punished just like my sisters did…time outs, maybe a spanking (rarely a spanking) or whatnot. My mother didn’t coddle me and she didn’t expect anyone else to do that either.

But as I grew up, the whole “I can do anything” thing transformed into proving that I can achieve the same thing, if not more, than people expect me to. I already had the title of “disabled” hanging over my head. People already knew that I had a condition and that made me want to prove, even more, that I wasn’t my condition. That “disabled” was only a word, and that I was so much more than that.

It’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. Though I stopped denying my disability or the condition I have, I work harder to prove that it means nothing. That it stops nothing. In doing that, I have completely stressed myself out by trying to be “perfect” and trying to prove myself. I would not be my disability, I refused to be.

So, are my expectations for myself too high? Of course they are. Because I feel like, not only do I have to prove myself to others, but I have to prove myself to myself. I have to make a life for myself so well that no one remembers that I’m disabled. No one even thinks of it. I want to be a successful adult that just so happens to have a medical condition.

A lot of people don’t understand that, hell my own mother doesn’t get it, but it’s there. I understand it, and that’s all that matters.

I just wish my expectations didn’t come with stress and doubts.

And sometimes, I wish I could just…be. Be myself. Be lazy. Be…average.

But I’m disabled…and average isn’t in my vocabulary anymore. I will always want to be above average…