I had a mental breakdown this week. Well, two mental breakdowns about two separate things.
One was about a broken mirror and mother/daughter dynamics. The other breakdown was about a lack of control and the fear that uncertainty brings into my life.
The theoretical idea of accepting uncertainty fascinates me. The movies Manchester by the Sea, La La Land, and 500 Days of Summer explore uncertainty and I love them. I love talking about them, analyzing, and deconstructing them. So why do I hate uncertainty in my life so much?
While some people complained about how Summer and Tom didn't end up together, I celebrated it. It's the reason the movie is so great. It would have been a mediocre movie if they did end up together. Tom wants Summer to be predictable and constant. He wants her to promise that she will never change her mind. Summer honestly replies, "I can't give you that. Nobody can." I love that line so much. I hate that it's true.
I absolutely love that Manchester by the Sea doesn't end with some redeeming cheesy success. Lee Chandler doesn't overcome his past; his life is still hard. Nothing incredible happens, it just keeps going. The movie doesn't feed us the lie that everything has a happy ending. I resonate with this because it's a reality. I wish it wasn't.
I have pretty severe anxiety, my husband has clinical depression. You might be able to imagine the fun we have if we are both experiencing an "episode."
Josh's depression sometimes manifests as physical symptoms. These symptoms are painful and real and they sometimes make it difficult for him to attend work. I have a severe fear of destitution and financial insecurity. So, when Josh doesn't attend work, I get panicky. My second mental breakdown was preceded by Josh not being able to attend his shift. I had a full-on panic attack. I lost my mind. I was crying, self-harming, and totally hopeless. Josh was patient, kind, and present, which I am grateful for. I still wonder, however: why can't I lean into the uncertainty? I'm not sure. I guess I'm putting this out into the universe and hoping it gifts me an answer.
I held on to an illusion of certainty for a long time. It was my mirage. "Someday things will be certain and predictable." I believed that I experienced anxiety because of my circumstances. Once I got out of the uncertain circumstances, my anxiety would be gone. I had illusions like, "I'm so stressed because I'm in a grad program." "I'll be less stressed once I'm not so busy." "Once I'm near my family, I'll feel peaceful." "Once I'm not near my family, I won't hate my life." Projecting peace into the future gave me hope and made the present more bearable. Well, I arrived at my mirage on or about May 3rd, 2018. I had graduated from grad school. I was welcomed into my parents' house with my dogs and my husband after traveling across the country. I had a part-time job working from home about 5 hours a week. We didn't have to pay rent. We had a fenced in backyard for the dogs. I had no school and basically no responsibilities. Yet I was miserable, more so than when I had lots of responsibilities and stress. My mirage was butt ugly. I was chasing a specter. Life without anxiety doesn't exist for me and that was a difficult realization.
I had been able to forge on when there was at least some hope that peace was possible. Once my hovering possibility of peace was gone, I have to admit, I struggled to breathe. I struggled to function. I wanted to stop living.
All this feels shameful because I have nothing really to complain about. My life is not bad. I have no right to describe my life as "this hell I'm living." I'm not living in hell. So why does it feel like I am?
I found a Facebook group for people with anxiety. I was accepted and soon annoyed by all the complaining. Being around people with mental illnesses is exhausting. I know that. I was hoping to share the experience I had and get some feedback, advice, and camaraderie. I couldn't bring myself to add to the constant stream of woe. People post on that page every 3 minutes. There are so many posts. It didn't feel like a community. It felt selfish. I understand people have valid, real fears, but I couldn't handle reading them. Later, I learned that someone who also has clinical depression didn't understand the way Josh experiences depression. This hurt pretty badly. Where is our ally? Who can understand and not judge? Josh gives the benefit of the doubt in a more comprehensive and sincere way than anyone I've interacted with. He deserves the same. I don't always understand Josh's depression either. I don't understand my own mind a good portion of the time. I try to understand. Sometimes I succeed.
A lot of my posts have a definitive end. I've been trying to wrap this one up nicely, but I should have realized that a post about uncertainty couldn't be wrapped up. As it is, we keep moving and trying. New realities form and we adjust, and I find comfort in artistic uncertainty until I can find acceptance in actual uncertainty.
