These past few weeks have proven excruciating. As I type this in a quiet cafe on campus, squirreled away in the corner of a largely deserted lobby I have become a runny-nosed, mouth-breathing, pale, miserable creature. Still, I don't feel miserable. I'm not connected to any feelings at all. There has been no time to think of, much less care about myself. Even my flights of fancy have been put on hold while I wait for my life to gain some semblance of balance. Mother, the most stalwart person I know is sicker than ever and so far withdrawn into her own pain and grief that I can not comfort her, nor do I draw any comfort from her. That brat of a younger sister was institutionalized for less than a week, has medication, a support group, and a therapist.
I have finally managed to make it back into therapy, only to find myself putting up intense resistance. I came in complaining of a feeling of numbness. Now I know that I am cut off from my emotions, and the distance between awareness and what I feel gives me the sensation of living in increasingly thick fog. I feel lost in this foggy confusion.
I guess I don't know what to feel. I am the caretaker but I can't help anyone lately, I am lonely but fearful of forming attachments. I know the anger and sadness and all the rest of it are things that should change for me to be healthy, but continue to be ambivalent towards change. One would think that my very presence in therapy would indicate a desire to change. Maybe on some level I do want to change, but I haven't admitted that to myself.
I'm panicking for some reason. I'm so very angry, at everything and at nothing, and I don't know why.