Rambling to Deeper Rambling – Enough for Tonight

Another day. Another set of clients. Some days I struggle wondering if I want to do more or not. Other days I feel fine where I am – who would guide these clients to resources if I moved on. Moving on is great. Sometimes I do feel I’m selling myself short. Yet, I feel this level of individuals also deserves a fully trained person to help them which they often don’t get.

In the end, I don’t think I’ll move forward with education. I don’t want the loans. I don’t want more school.  I don’t 3,000 supervised hours before I could move into private practice which is the selling point. My bachelors in sufficient. I’m capable of more. Yet, I feel I often do more. Especially knowing I work with so many uneducated individuals. Advocating at this level allows me to reach a larger base than I think I would with a Masters. It helps me to guide these people to those with the Masters, to programs they never thought of, to jobs they never dreamed of, to resources they never knew of. I believe I’m where I’m meant to be.

Don’t get me wrong – The pay, benefits and retirement are worth it alone. Private practice doesn’t have any that. Nonprofits don’t have that. A Masters and more loans wouldn’t make me much more, I’d sadly take a pay cut most likely. I’m stuck with the government for life to maintain this level of pay & benefits. I’ve got 8 years in. I’m fully vested. I’ll get another longevity raise and quicker rising vacation/sick time in less than 2 years and every 5 years thereafter. So, that’s that. But days like today I know I am making a difference. I know I’m guiding people to goals and ideas they never had. To mental health therapies they weren’t aware of. It’s worth it. And when my life isn’t a chaotic zoo and I’m not hanging on a ledge for dear life and in a good place mentally – I can volunteer. I can give my time to something that also matters to me. To advocate for some other population for greater fulfillment. Hospice. CASA. Domestic Violence Crisis Line. Those remain my top 3 choices. Someday.

Today I did my annual free health screening I should have the results back tomorrow she said. It was a win lose already. I did the last one in October as I was late. Between October and March. 5 exact months. I’ve lost 13 pounds. Total win. Lose – I had to mark I started smoking again down. Huge lose.

13 pounds. Wtf. I’ve maintained the same miserable 33ish – 37ish pounds more than I want to weigh forever. Why?! No effort. No trying. Just anxiety, depression, sadness. (It’s technically 17 pounds from the last time I weighed at home in August or so.) It’s probably not a good thing but I am excited about it. I wish I could do it healthier. I wish it wasn’t because I’m too stressed and sad to eat most days. But I guess I’ll take it. The cigarettes are the same thing. Anxiety. Sadness. Depression.

I just can’t get out of this hole. I struggle daily with my daughter here. Her moving out is the slowest process ever. Then add in everything with my son and I’m just so sad.

Ever since his accident a couple weeks ago I’m even sadder. I can’t shake the feeling that my son will die. Before me. That it will be sooner than later. It’s such a depressing feeling. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be. My feelings are awful tho. I thought for a bit that maybe I need to call the funeral home and ask if I start a funeral account for myself if I can transfer to a child it if it’s ever necessary. I think I already have a plot my grandparents have paid for. I heard a songs couple days ago and again couldn’t shake the feeling it would be good for his funeral – Everything We Had by The Academy Is. Just something about it.

But I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. I shouldn’t be making notes occasionally about my sons funeral. That’s insane. Crazy. Depressing. Yet – here I am. With these thoughts that jump into my head when I least expect it and leave me so shaken and depressed by the time I push them away. Of course, I can’t eat and am losing weight. Of. Course.

The other interesting, depressing fact. I started doing Reddit Gift Exchanges which I love. That got me into Reddit Forums. I was reading the Santa one which had posts from “Ex Jehovah Witnesses” and a reference for a group about Exjws. I grew up in this religion until I was kicked out at 13/14. So I moved to that group and began reading. Story after story. Though I’ve known forever it wasn’t “right” I had never taken the time to think about what was wrong. To think of it as a cult. To think of how all the things and behaviors I’ve had could have related back to my childhood, upbringing and eventual exile at such a young age for not “following the elders rules”. Reading. Thinking. Processing. It’s caused a lot of deep, odd feelings. To realize my issues do have causes, roots, explanations. I didn’t just wake up one day to make poor choices because I was a “bad” kid. I mentioned this to my husband the other day and some of what I read. He looked at me like I was slightly crazy and says – Ummmm, yeah, it’s a cult. You still hadn’t realized that before this? No. I guess not. I guess I still thought it was normal. I thought the rules were normal. I somehow still believed that my 13/14 year old self did make poor enough choices to earn my road. (This moment – I will say I feel I was used as an example. To reign in the other youth. To stop the rebellion that was beginning by so many. Look. She’s gone. Do you want that to be you?) Obviously, I have way more to process and deal with. And yes – I probably need professional help. But again, not quite ready for that. Scraping this scab is messing with me. Ripping it off – Ugh.

That’s enough for tonight. Enough soul searching. Enough typing. Enough thinking.

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