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ninanevermoreToday I've been thinking about the nervous breakdown I had yesterday. It went well, and I am pleased with the results of it. I think it freaked my poor husband out a little, but some things can't be helped.
It was Jeff's day off, so he was home to witness me reaching my wits end. I needed a break and some time to myself, and felt my nerves starting to unravel. This was happening for several reasons. While the company of a two year old child is very rewarding, it's not something I'm used to having to handle full time, and it is a full time job. Looking for a job is also a full time job. This means I am juggling two full time jobs right now, but not bringing in any money. It's emotionally taxing, to say the least.
By yesterday, the walls of the house began to close in on me. I still want to burn the house, with its never-ending list of DIY projects that it represents, down, and sometimes it doesn't seem fair that I'm not allowed to mention this out loud without Jeff getting upset. After spending the morning brooding and stomping about in the pool of despair that had puddle up in my brain, I finally burst into tears.
My toddler regarded me with caution, and decided to play on the other side of the room where he could keep an eye on me to see if I would return to normal. I don't know if it was the sound of me crying or all the doors I had been slamming, but Jeff finally woke up from his second shift slumber, which ends in the early afternoon.
"Honey?" he asked, worriedly.
I ignored him. I was busy having an argument with him in my head, which is the only place I enjoy arguing with him, and I didn't want to be disturbed. In my imagined arguments, he doesn't argue back, he just listens while I tell him everything that is making me nuts. In my head, I always win the arguments, whereas in real life, he gets defensive and points out that I'm not the easiest person to live with, either. He makes some good points, so I find it best to not bring this stuff up too often outside of my head, if it can be helped.
There are some who would say that by not venting to Jeff in real life, I am doing something unhealthy. These are people who do not live in their heads the way I live in mine. In other words, sane people. I am not entirely sane. What happens in my head is as real to me as the things that happen outside of it. I can have a really rewarding conversation in my mind and get the same kind of emotional satisfaction that a sane person would get from talking to another person, but without any of the fallout that tends to come from real-life conversations.
Once an issue is resolved in my mind, I can slowly and subtly breach my winning arguments into everyday conversations with the victim of my make-believe verbal lashing, and they never have to know how ugly things really got when we had a knock-down, drag-out hashing out in one of the darker corners of my consciousness.
But I'm not getting much quality time in my head of late. I have a small child who follows me from room to room, even the bathroom, leaving me very little time for privacy of any sort. After a few days of this, I feel a little twitchy.
Jeff looked concerned. "Honey, are you all right?"
I shook my head.
"Is there anything I can do?"
I shook my head again. In my mind, I threw something at his head to punish him for loving the house that that I hate so much.
"Is it anything in particular?"
I shook my head again.
"Is it everything?"
At last, he got something right. I nodded and sobbed.
"Here, let me give you a hug."
I let him put his arms around me and I sobbed for a little while longer. Thank God Jeff has had relationships with women far crazier than I am. His exes make me look easy by comparison, and I really should thank each and every nut job that he ever dated before me for toughening him up. After a few minutes, I pulled away from him and announced that I needed to get out of the house. I picked up my purse and I left Jeff and our son to spend some quality time together while mom fled the premises.
Two hours and one café latte later, I was fine, and I came back home.
When I pulled into the driveway, Jeff was working in the front yard. He looked surprised. "I didn't expect to see you again until midnight or something," he said.
"I heal quick," I told him. Then I brought up some of the things I had been yelling out in my head to him, only now I was calm and able to talk about them without being angry, since I had already won this fight in the arena of my mind, which is where it matters most to me. It was a productive conversation, all in all.
Two hours of solitude was all I needed. It did me a world of good. I enjoyed it so much that I think I may need to schedule these nervous breakdowns more often.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
It was Jeff's day off, so he was home to witness me reaching my wits end. I needed a break and some time to myself, and felt my nerves starting to unravel. This was happening for several reasons. While the company of a two year old child is very rewarding, it's not something I'm used to having to handle full time, and it is a full time job. Looking for a job is also a full time job. This means I am juggling two full time jobs right now, but not bringing in any money. It's emotionally taxing, to say the least.
By yesterday, the walls of the house began to close in on me. I still want to burn the house, with its never-ending list of DIY projects that it represents, down, and sometimes it doesn't seem fair that I'm not allowed to mention this out loud without Jeff getting upset. After spending the morning brooding and stomping about in the pool of despair that had puddle up in my brain, I finally burst into tears.
My toddler regarded me with caution, and decided to play on the other side of the room where he could keep an eye on me to see if I would return to normal. I don't know if it was the sound of me crying or all the doors I had been slamming, but Jeff finally woke up from his second shift slumber, which ends in the early afternoon.
"Honey?" he asked, worriedly.
I ignored him. I was busy having an argument with him in my head, which is the only place I enjoy arguing with him, and I didn't want to be disturbed. In my imagined arguments, he doesn't argue back, he just listens while I tell him everything that is making me nuts. In my head, I always win the arguments, whereas in real life, he gets defensive and points out that I'm not the easiest person to live with, either. He makes some good points, so I find it best to not bring this stuff up too often outside of my head, if it can be helped.
There are some who would say that by not venting to Jeff in real life, I am doing something unhealthy. These are people who do not live in their heads the way I live in mine. In other words, sane people. I am not entirely sane. What happens in my head is as real to me as the things that happen outside of it. I can have a really rewarding conversation in my mind and get the same kind of emotional satisfaction that a sane person would get from talking to another person, but without any of the fallout that tends to come from real-life conversations.
Once an issue is resolved in my mind, I can slowly and subtly breach my winning arguments into everyday conversations with the victim of my make-believe verbal lashing, and they never have to know how ugly things really got when we had a knock-down, drag-out hashing out in one of the darker corners of my consciousness.
But I'm not getting much quality time in my head of late. I have a small child who follows me from room to room, even the bathroom, leaving me very little time for privacy of any sort. After a few days of this, I feel a little twitchy.
Jeff looked concerned. "Honey, are you all right?"
I shook my head.
"Is there anything I can do?"
I shook my head again. In my mind, I threw something at his head to punish him for loving the house that that I hate so much.
"Is it anything in particular?"
I shook my head again.
"Is it everything?"
At last, he got something right. I nodded and sobbed.
"Here, let me give you a hug."
I let him put his arms around me and I sobbed for a little while longer. Thank God Jeff has had relationships with women far crazier than I am. His exes make me look easy by comparison, and I really should thank each and every nut job that he ever dated before me for toughening him up. After a few minutes, I pulled away from him and announced that I needed to get out of the house. I picked up my purse and I left Jeff and our son to spend some quality time together while mom fled the premises.
Two hours and one café latte later, I was fine, and I came back home.
When I pulled into the driveway, Jeff was working in the front yard. He looked surprised. "I didn't expect to see you again until midnight or something," he said.
"I heal quick," I told him. Then I brought up some of the things I had been yelling out in my head to him, only now I was calm and able to talk about them without being angry, since I had already won this fight in the arena of my mind, which is where it matters most to me. It was a productive conversation, all in all.
Two hours of solitude was all I needed. It did me a world of good. I enjoyed it so much that I think I may need to schedule these nervous breakdowns more often.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-15 07:34 pm (UTC)