Flying on the raggedy edge

I have felt recently like a latch on a door that has withstood the elements, friction, pressure, and probably a kick or two, before finally giving way and letting go of everything trapped behind it. The proverbial skeletons in my mental closet are scattered around the entry way, and try as I might to cram them back in, there are stray bones everywhere. It's not pretty. 

And it is so frustrating. I have been in control of my brain for years now. I faced down so many challenges, so much pressure, so many crises, and all manner of other assorted crap, and come through it just fine. Coping skills solidly in place, I was starting to feel invincible. 

But...apparently not. About halfway through 2020 I noticed a little crack. A little break in that dam where some anxiety was leaking through. (Be honest, if you weren't anxious in 2020, you were in a coma, right?) But it was enough that I wasn't coping well with it. I had to work through the pandemic, but unlike doctors, nurses, and other essential workers, nobody was buying us coffee. We just showed up to work with the most vulnerable and marginalized people in our community and kept on going. And going. So I saw my doctor and I said, "Hey, I'm doing all the things that usually help me manage this, and it's not being managed. Can I get some help?" and she got me a prescription, and a few months later I got myself together and took the last of my prescription, and I was fine. 

Then, my oldest kid, started high school. This has not gone well. I suppose it could be worse, but it hasn't been great. And I've had to grapple with a whole different set of issues. Issues I do not feel equipped to handle. And issues that feel eerily similar to the ones I had when I was in high school. 

Let me tell you, I did not know it was possible to feel this afraid of what might happen as I have lately. The idea that my child might experience anything similar to what I did as a teen, and might end up needing the same kinds of care and intervention, has shaken me to my absolute core. I go to sleep every night terrified that by morning they could be gone. I walk around constantly thinking of what else I can do, how else can I help, what additional support to they need? How did we get to this point? Where did I fail? 

Because make no mistake, the responsibility for this mess lands squarely on my shoulders. Either genetically or through failures of parenting, I just know, without question, that I am responsible. And if I am this bad at parenting, well it kind of throws my whole view of myself into question. 

I also know though, that my brain is unreliable. I'm not starting over from scratch here. I've walked these shadowed and bony places in my brain many times before, and I know I can't always trust what I find. But I just can't shake this feeling that I have failed, that I have fundamentally failed, to live up to the obligations of parenting and by extension, everything else. 

I keep waiting for someone to come along and just confirm for me what a mess I am, and maybe take my kids away, because I don't feel fit to care for them. I know they're fed, and clean, and loved, and dressed, and housed, and all those other things, but can't someone see that I am defective in some way? I am broken on the inside somewhere, and I have been lying to myself for years and decades and maybe my whole life, that I am okay. Maybe I don't actually know what okay is. And I desperately just want to crawl into a hole and hide from everything. 

But I'm not. I'm at work. I go home. I hug my family. I feed them dinner. I do laundry. I shop. I made someone laugh this morning. I put on my functioning human suit and I go through all the motions. I send emails. I answer the phone. I ignore the rattle of bones in my head whispering "failure, failure, failure" and I paste a smile on, and I pretend I am okay. 

And I am exhausted by it. I feel that I am a catastrophe away from collapsing amongst the bones in my foyer and just weeping until I dissolve and take up residence as a skeleton in someone else's closet. I probably won't, but sometimes it's tempting.