03/29/2011

Why is it so hard

To admit that

I’m (not) ok?

My sister is separating from her husband.  Not her choice, but his.  I hurt and I ache for her, even knowing that she hasn’t been the easiest person to deal with these last few years.  She does not speak to me, with any consistency, so I have not spoken to her about this.  

My mother relies upon me to  be her sounding board, and to be her support.  I have spent hours on the phone with her, listening to how horrible she feels for Megan.  Listening to how heart sick she is.  Listening, and listening. 

I feel horrible for my sister, I really do.

But I also feel pain. Pure agony. 
So then I feel guilty, for hurting. Selfish for wanting.

Yet.  I feel as though I cannot bear the load.  Stress about school.  Will I have a job?  Supporting my mother in this, and in other matters.  

Feeling so alone. 

And then I’m hurting, and I feel so guilty for hurting.  I could not find the reason for it.  I cried from the time I walked in my door until I feel asleep last night.  I could not find the reason for it.  I split my skin.  I shook, I ached, I hurt.  Still I could not find the reason for it.  Memories glared ugly from Christopher, and yet, I could not find the reason for it.

Finally, I realized.  

My sister is in crisis.  She is hurting, she is in pain.  My mother drove 2 and a half hours and waited around for another 5 or 6.  She got a hotel room and spent the night, just to be in the area.  My sister may not have wanted her right in front of her, may have wanted to be alone, but she knew my mother was there, waiting, in case she needed her.  My mother told me to be on standby on Saturday, because she might need me to come as well.  (I had plans to be busy at a ren fest an hour outside of Austin, and didn’t have my own car.  She told me she would come get me if necessary).  I am glad that my mother was there, and I am glad that my sister has that support.

What hurts, what is tearing me to pieces, is that when I needed my mother.  When I so desperately needed her support, I got nothing.  Instead I was told it was my fault.  I was told to accept responsibility for my actions, and that it was my choice.  

What hurts is that, when I am at my most desperate, support seems so far away.  I grow fearful of reaching out, because being ignored, or shut down, or minimalized is too painful.  

It is so hard to admit that I am not ok.