I’m not okay.

In fairness, I think the only person I was fooling was myself.

I think “my people” know I’m not in fact okay, even though I’ve been insisting “I’m okay” for some time now. And people who don’t even know me must know that I can’t possibly be okay.

As my friend just said to me “It would probably be weirder if you were okay” and another said “I think I would be more scared if I thought you were okay“. Um yes I do have the best friends in the world, thanks for noticing.

The front page follow-up article in the Rocky Bulletin today has hit me hard.

I have to fill out a questionnaire each week in between each session I have with my psychologist. Some of the questions include:

“I am able to show my emotions to others.” Yes

“Others can tell how I am feeling.” Yes

“My feelings are confusing to me.” No

The same questions are asked each week. It has become a bit tedious to be honest, but when I filled it out before my session last week, it (finally) occurred to me that I hide my true feelings. Not intentionally; I truly feel like I have been completely honest this whole year; but subconsciously, as a method of survival I guess, I have kept my cards quite close to my chest.

I think I confuse sharing my thoughts with sharing my feelings. I have been fooling myself that thoughts and feelings are one and the same, but they clearly are not. It’s easy to share thoughts. But feelings? Hmmmm. Not so much.

I was at a playground meet-up this morning with the prep mums. These women are absolutely incredible and gorgeous and fun and real, and I have connected with them in the same way that I connected with my mum’s group in Wangaratta all those years ago. I was telling them about the article, and showed them the front page. To lighten the mood, I laughed about the editor flipping the photo around (obviously as a coping mechanism) which turned Darby’s Super Mario shirt logo backwards.

When I saw the tears and heartache and empathy in their eyes, it hit me.

If I were reading about another mum and wife who had gone through this, I would have tears in my eyes as well, and I would wonder how this woman could possibly get out of bed each day. If that mum was showing me this article, and lightening the mood with humour, I would ache for her. 

What can I say? It’s different when that person is you.

I haven’t been drinking nearly as much this year, but I have had a drink or two this evening and the words are pouring out. I’m not saying I need to drink to write but sometimes the words flow unexpectedly after a tipple.

The front page article in the Rocky Bulletin today has touched something in me but I don’t know what it is. And it’s not a bad thing. And a part of me has to say that, because it’s true, but also to reassure the journalist who interviewed me, that it was a great article. (People pleaser through and through.)

Good grief there are so many tangents and ideas and thoughts and feelings in this post. This is more of a journal entry than a blog post, but I’ve come this far, so why not go all the way.

Another statement I’ve had to address in my therapy questionnaires:

“Being upset helps me be creative.” Yes

Yes indeed.

Please don’t worry. I’m okay with not being okay. This is helpful to me. Getting these words out of my head and heart and onto a screen is part of my therapy. Whether or not my words are read is irrelevant. It just helps to write and work through stuff as I go.

Thanks for being part of this inconceivable journey.