(This post is inspired by the post, “The old ball and chain” on the Journey to Balance Blog.)
I drove — yes, drove — to and from therapy yesterday. I got tired of taking the El, I wasn’t feeling well physically nor mentally, I suppose, but I knew I needed to get there. Driving meant having to take Lake Shore Drive, a stretch of expressway that runs along Lake Michigan. As far as expressways go in Chicago, this one’s pretty easy: only 4 lanes in each direction. Listening to Social Distortion, loudly, helped.
On my way home, the song “Ball and Chain” came on, and I realized that I’m my own ball and chain. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that I sabotage my own efforts. I’ve had varying degrees of success in my personal goals, career, and recovery; but apparently, I can’t seem to handle that success. Or maybe I’ve become used to feeling like such a “loser” these last couple of years that failure seems more comfortable and so I give up on trying to do anything.
Part of that is decision making, which is difficult for me as a result of the depression. But we aren’t talking about big decisions here, like whether or not to buy a house. For me, big decisions include taking a shower; what to wear after I take a shower that is, if I take a shower; what the consequences are if I don’t shower; whether or not I should use hair product if I do shower; whether or not I should wear a shower cap and just wear a hat that day; etc. When I’m at baseline, I don’t even give these things any thought — I just do them. But lately, these teeny little details make it difficult for me to get out of bed in the morning — my obsessing over all this minutiae is me being my own ball and chain.
When I do have to make larger decisions, decisions that involve other people, it’s that much more difficult. I had to make one such decision yesterday. The details aren’t important, but I’m convinced that my friend absolutely hates me now and will never talk to me ever again (though the rational part of me knows that’s ridiculous). I’m convinced that Brian is absolutely disappointed; he was disappointed yes, but assures me he’s over it. I, on the other hand, feel a tremendous amount of guilt for letting Brian and our friend down even though in reality, sure they’re disappointed, but probably nowhere near as disappointed as I think they are. Though I feel relieved by my decision, this irrational guilt is crippling me — again, my own ball and chain.
I’m pretty sure Brian and your friend aren’t mad at you; Brian, at least, is pretty proud of you – for driving, for making the decisions you needed to. (He’s also glad he left the Social Distortion CD in the car, I think).
The way other people feel isn’t your responsibility (unless you delibaretely hurt them). Make a decision as wisely as you possibly can then forget about it.
Good for you for driving, keep it up!
Yes, you’re right. I’m trying to cut off the “ball and chain” of guilt or whatever other feelings hold me back in order to move on.
I worked with people in the nursing home who are bipolar. Of course, you know now, that I work with women who a preggers. Long story short – bipolar life is difficult. I’ve got nothing but empathy for you.
April´s last blog ..Paladin Pride
Thanks, April.
I always feel that way too but truthfully if they can’t understand where you are coming from then they aren’t very good friends. I’m trying to learn that fewer better friends is more important than a bunch of friends that don’t get me. Take care of you.
Robin´s last blog ..Seven Pounds
Totally. If they can’t cut me some slack because I sometimes have to cancel at the last minute, knowing what I go through, then maybe they aren’t such good friends. It’s not like I just blow people off when I feel like it and don’t apologize or feel bad. On the other hand, I do have friends who don’t understand the disease but are trying to.
That being said, I agree that fewer good friends are better than tons of so-called friends. Also, I know for a fact that this particular friend totally understands — but the depression sometimes twists that true perception into something that isn’t real.