This couch is too heavy to carry alone.December 6, 2010 at 11:49 AM | Posted in EYE believe, Preposterous Ponderance | 3 Comments
Tags: angsterbation, eyes, support
It has been very hectic here. So many things are changing, but so many things stay the same. We have moved to a new apartment and my Mother has the extra room. Many friends came out to help us move and it was very nice to have the extra hands, and the extra drivers. It is insanely frustrating that I am unable to drive. I have working hands, working feet and a mostly working mind. The eyes have it, though. Missing areas of vision are a little hard to ignore. It seems strange to be affected by something that no longer exists. (On a plus note I went to a specialist to see if I have Glaucoma but she didn’t see a single sign of it! Seems that the cataracts are what’s making my sight worse.)
The move took several days and was exhausting. My husband did not get a proper vacation during Thanksgiving. I’d say we are thankful for our friends and the help they gave. The couch has always been a problem. It is heavy and awkward. My husband and a friend were able to finagle it into the old apartment and we were not looking forward to getting it back out. This time it was decided that it would go out the balcony. With ropes and nerves on edge it was done. It somehow fit into my Mom’s van and we stored it in the garage we are renting at the new place.
Now, I bet you’re wondering why I am talking about this couch?
I am having a really tough time. My vision is the biggest but old thoughts and feelings have come forward and are trying to take root. When I was a teenager I had a problem dealing with everything. I was a cutter. That’s how I dealt with uncontrollable pain. I did it in college as well and have not done it since 2002. This is the first time I have thought about it. I’m pretty sure that I would not do it again as I know it would upset my husband and it will hurt!
The stress of the move, family issues, classes, and visual frustrations have brought forth my lack of self-confidence, serious low self-esteem, fear of failure, fear of being insignificant( and now on top, add fear of being alone in the darkness.) I had a severe break-down. This one was worse than any other I’ve had before. In high school the worst incident consisted of me sitting in my closet with fresh cuts on my arm contemplating the bottle of pills in my hand, crying my eyes out. This time I just couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to do anything harmful to myself, however.
We were unpacking and trying to get the apartment into a better, livable shape. For some reason I like to do this sort of thing alone and get frustrated with people when they ask if I need help. I see this as a slam at my ability to accomplish anything. I was felling anger and frustration building and bubbling up inside and I did snap at my Mom. She decided to go into her room and told me to ask her if I need help. My husband just ignored me for the most part. (that’s what it seemed like, anyway.) I sat down in the living room and tried to calm the anger and sadness. I got up and tried to continue unpacking. I went into the bedroom and collapsed down. I couldn’t breathe. I would breathe in but I couldn’t release it. I called out to my husband when he walked by that I was scared and that I couldn’t breathe. It was so painful and humiliating. I didn’t want my Mother to hear me so he closed the door. After much provoking and prodding I started to talk about what I was feeling. I had so many things rolling around that they probably didn’t make sense as I talked. I talked about frustration with family all the way to cosmic conundrums. We’ve decided I need some sort of help. Whether it is from a therapist or something heavier I don’t know yet.
I am afraid of getting help, however. I am afraid to be labeled as a crazy person. I am afraid to be looked at differently by my husband. I am afraid of not being who I think I am.
The couch solidified it for me. We were bringing it in to the apartment from the garage. My husband and I trying to carry it and my Mom opening the doors for us. My arms were rubber. I could not hold up my end of it for very long. Once through the doors my Mom helped with the finagling. The couch was so very heavy even with help but it was so much better than if I had tried to move it myself. I may have a lot sitting on my brain and conspiring with gravity to crush my very soul but if I ask for help and actually listen to that help and advice, I may be able to get the couch into the apartment a little easier.