To say the life I lead is hard feels like so much of an understatement, that it may actually be the cliche that everyone is talking about. Without divulging too many real details, my job is innately stressful. It's the field I work in, the the nature of what I do. It's nothing but stress from start to finish and I have always loved it. But now that things at home feel less stable, things at work feel less stable.
My job has always been the place I looked forward to going to get away from my life. I didn't have to think about PTSD or the struggles that take place behind closed doors. I just showed up and do what I do best. And I do it well.
But suddenly there has been a shift. That shift happened when I could no longer allow my employer take me for granted. I couldn't let them use trusty ol' Annie to pick up the slack, fill the shifts and generally be the dependable one. It happened when one day I woke up and looked at my life and no longer had the will to get out of bed. For two weeks, I got up, ate and went back to bed. I wasn't sleeping, I was hiding. I was hiding from my life.
I sat in the dark, blinds drawn, TV on, computer in my lap, refusing to accept that outside of the door of my room was an entire world that functions without lying. Most people don't go to work and lie about who they are. They don't lie to friends about why they can't come visit, to family about why they can't make it to dinner or to themselves about how they really feel.
I hid because opening that door meant having to admit that I don't always have all the answers. It meant having to admit that good ol' Annie had no one but herself to rely on and good ol' reliable Annie couldn't bear to face the world feeling like no one knew her.
So I hid. For two weeks I told my husband I was sick, I told my friends I had a headache, I left my phone on silent and buried my pain and heartache in the shadows the fell in the corners of my closet.
To say this life is hard feels like calling the Great Wall of China a stone partition. And I don't know how I can ever expect anyone who is not living it each day to understand why. So, it's likely I will take to my room again one day. I don't suppose it's so terrible to need a break everyone now and then. But where do you go when your home is the place you are escaping from?
I take to my bed. I hid in my room behind excuses, until I can find the strength to live the lie.
"It's hard" is an understatement.