I’ve been having a lot of feelings lately. And I don’t like it. I haven’t always had feelings. Or at the very least the ones I had weren’t very complicated or intense. It wasn’t until I was 13 or 14 that I realized people had feelings. I had always assumed that everyone was empty like me. I started to suddenly experience emotions around the age of sixteen. I’m not a neurologist but I assume emotions just don’t suddenly turn on like a light bulb. But mostly I just remember psychosomatic reactions instead of feelings previous to this emotional awakening. I didn’t feel angry, my stomach hurt. I wasn’t frustrated, I had a headache. I wasn’t scared, I had diarrhea. Then emotions came on strong around the time I had more than one friend who had more than one friend. I remember feeling like everyone else’s friendships had something that they didn’t have with me. I was dismayed and jealous and confused but couldn’t logic it out so I just put the whole subject in the bin. Then I went into my first major depressive episode and my emotions went away again.
My second major depressive episode is in remission and I have been depression free for nearly 14 months. I’ve had a lot of feelings in that span of time and they are exhausting. I can’t understand how people function with emotions all the time. How are they even still alive? Most of the time I wish I didn’t have emotions. Or that I wasn’t as aware of them. I’m more aware of my emotions now than I have ever been but I understand them no better than I did when I was a teenager. I’m 31 years old and I don’t know what to do when I’m sad, or lonley, or anxious. Most of the time I don’t even know why I’m experiencing any of those things.
Generally, R has always told me what I’m feeling and what I should do about it. She’s been doing this since we were teens. In return I’ve always redirected her when her ADHD leads her stray. R has grown as person and is a wife and mother and I’m a 31 year old with the emotional intelligence of a second grader. Before R had kids I’d go to her, say something like “I feel bad”, and boom! R does her emotional magic. She’d figure out what I was feeling, some possible reasons for that feeling(s), and some functional plans to help me process the feeling(s) and move on. Rarely was she ever wrong. Maybe because we’ve known each other for so long (and in no small part because we were both more than willing to be in a codependent relationship) R usually figures out fairly quickly what’s going on with me emotionally. She does it (I think) by taking my emotions and making them her own and I know that’s not healthy for either of us. It was just easy and it made sense.
But R has kids now and neither of us wants to our relationship to be codependent again. She can’t be my emotional Sherlock Holmes cause she needs to be teaching her 2 year old daughter how to deal with her feelings and not her 31 year old autistic friend. I don’t want to be a burden to her anymore than I can help so I’m stuck with my own stupid emotions and I hate them. I want them to jump back into whatever Pandora’s box I unwittingly let them out of and leave me the hell alone. And, contrary to popular media portrayal, the medications I take don’t medicate my emotions away. They just get rid of the self destructive extremes.
And to make things more complicated I have emotions about my emotions. I’m afraid to feel any level of sadness because for me sadness only comes in one flavor: depression. So I’m afraid to feel sad but then I feel stupid for being afraid because my 2 year old goddaughter can handle being sad. Then I feel like I should accept how I feel because my feelings are valid dammit and eventually the noise in my head becomes so loud I start to have a panic attack. Then I take my medication and hide in my room with the lights off for several hours, willing my heart rate to go back to something that feels like it won’t kill me. And I still have the psychosomatic reactions too. Fevers, blinding headaches, blurred vision, selective mutism, stomach cramps and pains, heart burn, hives, vomiting, diarrhea, and asthmatic attacks. They resolve and/or can be medicated away but the core problem remains.
I don’t know what to do with my feels. My culture and family have taught me to medicate my feelings with food. Its hardly a surprise that as I’ve become more aware of my feelings my weight has steadily increased. i found myself finally able to verbally articulate this dilemma (my mouth is a notorious traitor) during the dying embers of my disastrous attempt at graduate school. I told all of this to the head of the psychological services center, a psychologist with over 30 years experience and more research papers to his name than any person should physically be able to write. With my file in his lap, he looked at me over the rims of his glasses (me red faced and sucking on my rescue inhaler) and intoned, “Wow. It sounds like you have some kind of emotional disorder. Have you tried Zoloft?”
I think filling out the mountains of paperwork required and going to his office reaching out for help was my last desperate attempt to salvage my graduate school education. He was unmoved and I guess I gave up. Agoraphobia became queen of the kingdom and I lost my financial aid, my job, and finally my apartment. (Side note: I’m not sure why agoraphobia is female but it/she is.) Because of course I had been on Zoloft. It was in the file he was holding on his lap. The file he was supposed to have read. I loved Zoloft. i was at my most functional on Zoloft. I graduated college with the help of Zoloft. But it stopped working as those kinds of drugs sometimes do.
But I didn’t really give up, I don’t think. I just ran out of resources to give. Everything kept taking form me and I had nothing left to give. So I slipped back into hypersomnia, selective mutism, and eventually depression held sway over all. The winter of my discontent came and my feelings went into hibernation.
It is now the summer of my mental state and my emotions are ready to run amok. They’re like undergrads in Cancun, drunk on their own sense of importance and always read to overreact.
Today’s emotional overreaction: self hatred.
Because I couldn’t go to lunch at a restaurant. The thought of it made me have a panic attack and I stayed home. Not a new scenario for me. It happens fairly often. I don’t like loud, noisy, crowded places. I know this, R knows this, and anyone who will listen knows this. Its my thing. But today it is making me hate myself. I can’t do something as simple and commonplace as have lunch in a restaurant. What the hell is wrong with me?
Stupid, pointless, useless emotions.