The Freedom Song of the Jigsaw Girl

So I found out today that I am getting a much needed raise, which should (touch wood) ease some of my financial worries. And this was very happy making news, but I lacked the energy for much more than a profound thank you to my boss. Largely because my mouth freaking hurts, and while I'm good at tuning out pain to a certain degree it is still tiring. ( cn: dental/mouth issues )

So needless to say, I'm tired and a bit grumpy and it was hard to show excitement over the raise. And now my brain weasels are trying to tell me that I didn't show the appropriate level of appreciation and that it will come back and bite me on the ass. Which is silly because my boss and co-workers are aware that I am having mouth issues, and because they are giving me a raise because I deserve one and have earned it, not because they wanted effusive praise. So I am happy and thankful, but will likely be more happy and thankful when I am not exhausted and in pain.

This time of year I always spend more time struggling with my own personal demons. Old fears and frustrations haunt my dreams, and spill over into my waking world. My birthday is just over a week away, and it has long been a time of conflict for me. Someone recently explained conflict as "the difference between expectation and reality." It is a very apt description. My expectation, formed through media and observation, is that a birthday is a happy occasion, a thing to be celebrated, especially as a child. However the reality of childhood birthdays was that they were a show, a grand gesture that my mother used to celebrate her greatness as a mother. It took me a long time to realize that the reason I found my birthday disappointing was that the celebrations never felt real. They lacked sincerity, and the grand gestures were overshadowed by other actions and words. My mother walks in a different reality, and suffers from martyr syndrome. She wants the world to glorify her for the "sacrifices" she has made, and she never failed to impart just how much she had sacrificed for me.

For the first twenty odd years of my life I heard a confusing mix of praise and censure. The praise seemed reserved for times when others were present, making me feel as if those words had less meaning. I felt like a doll on display and was always terrified that I would do something to screw it all up, and then I wouldn't get any words of praise false or otherwise. Away from the eyes and ears of other people my mother made it quite clear that she considered me worthless and unworthy of that praise. The was always a dark underlying current of this censure surrounding any birthday celebrations. Years of swimming in this mix of false sincerity and resentment left me doubting my own worth. Each year around my birthday, these feeling surge. Today was a particularly hard day, though I'm not sure why. The vicious cycle of it is that I then get angry at myself for being overwhelmed by these dark emotions.

It is hard for me to remember that ten years of therapy and self work cannot magically erase this old programming. I know, now, where I didn't before that I am a worthwhile person, and that I should celebrate my life. I have amazing friends, and a good life. I have had some wonderful adventures and am sure to have more. So I am telling myself that a good cry is okay, and being angry is okay. I just have to remember not to bottle it up and let it all fester. While my concentration today is shot, tomorrow is a different day.

Why post such a personal entry online? Because I am certain that others struggle with the same issues everyday, and sometimes it helps to know you are not alone. I needed to write out my thoughts on all this anyway; work through what I'm feeling and why and purge it from my system. Maybe this post will remind someone else that they are not alone. Maybe someone will have some ideas on how to silence old programing. Depression and childhood trauma are things that we don't like to talk about; dirty words and shamefully whispered secrets. Talking about it helps erase that shame. It is a chance to reclaim our lives and our histories. Maybe even a chance to help others understand. It isn't about pity or sympathy. It is about acknowledgment and empathy. There is a difference.

So I was doing pretty good for a few weeks. The standard fibro-fog was lifting a bit and I actually felt more like a healthy person (or at least what I imagine healthy person feels, having never been one in my reckoning). Then the barometric pressure goes and changes drastically and I wake up feeling like I've been hit my a bus. Migraine, joint aches and general malaise. Thank you body, for once again reminding me that you hate me. I missed my contracts class again (which is the second time I've missed this class, which is way too often for law school). I made it to torts, but am uncertain I could tell you what was discussed. Came home, slept some more and am now trying to do my work for tomorrow. Some come on body, let's get it together a bit, please? Pokes foggy brain. Where's the restart button?

End whiny mini-rant.