It’s ok, I know it’s a cliche. It is so real and entirely true. Just because you can do something, truly doesn’t mean you should. I don’t know if this saying doesn’t apply to anything in life. I have many more thoughts on this, but first, business.

Today I did not get up early to walk before work. Royally pissed me off, but I’m blaming the rain. Rain is a drug that is designed to keep one in bed. It’s euphoric. I overslept and ran downstairs to start the work day, which added to the pissed offness. This then led me to squeeze in a walk between calls and I’m so glad I did. I did my 2 miles before 12PM and I did it by myself with no music or anything. Lost in my thoughts…

I then made a phone call and the day just went downward in a spiral. I was told, “I’m worried about you.” Those words aren’t bad, they are loving (especially because of who said them I know loves me and I love him). It was what followed after that got my brain working overtime. Why are you worried about me? There wasn’t anything said to trigger the “I’m worried about you.” I WANTED and CRAVED the words that didn’t come. Weird right? I wanted to talk about what was really causing me to not be ok. I want that. I need that. I WANT them to WANT it.

I’m not intending to talk in riddles. I’m just getting out what’s in my head. Everyone deals with grief differently, I’ve said this, I know this. However, that doesn’t stop me from wanting others to deal with grief WITH me and try to face it WITH me. Make sense? I can’t force anyone to deal with it with me. I am doing it with my sister and let me tell you, it’s helping. But I want more. It isn’t my right to ask for more. I wanted to hear, “Hey, I heard through the grapevine that you aren’t dealing with Mom dying and I’m worried about you. Are you OK? Want to talk?”

The other part of this is I have suspicions on why they are worried about me and it hurts that I think these suspicions. NO, this is not anxiety showing it’s ugly head. This is history showing itself, yet again. I wish that the source that caused this worry would come to me. Ask me if I’m ok. Care enough to ask me. Because I do love you and I welcome you reaching out to me.

Don’t worry, I will be ok with this. Writing it down, really does help. It gets it out in a way that helps me process. I’ve been processing this all fucking day in my head and I’ve finally been able to pinpoint exactly what is bothering me. Took awhile and I had to analyze all the angles. But I did it.

I also made a decision about medication. Long story short, I am looking for a therapist and as part of my 2nd work gig (more on that in a few weeks), I was hooked up with Talkiatry. I had an appointment with a therapist and within 30 minutes, she prescribed an SSRI. The appointment was on 6/12 and I haven’t filled the prescription, until today. I’ve been back and forth on this and after the spiral of today, I went to the pharmacy and got it filled. I’ve been reading the side effects and NOT over reading or over thinking them all night. I’ve decided that I’m not ready to take this yet. Key word, yet. Emotional outbursts about Mom are hard, I have an emotional hangover after they happen. I do feel that because of these, I could benefit from the medication. But SHOULD I? Should I? I can, I got the pills. The side effects aren’t crazy, and only 1 in 100 get them. My body doesn’t like foreign shit going through it, will drugs going through my brain be any different? Right now, my answer is no, because I’m not quite comfortable with this.