Who You gonna call?

Hundreds of numbers in my contacts. Only four that I feel comfortable reaching out to when I’m in need of a friend. Makes it real tough when none of them can answer and I’m going through some shit.

Its amusing I suppose. Many people have told me that they think I have a lot of friends. I put on a great face at work. I’m loud. Constantly talking. On many committees where I have to present in front of crowds. I do a lot for my school community, and I (mostly) do it with a friendly face and a smile. Truth of the matter is, I often feel very alone. I only have a small number of people I trust with my inner sadness and anxiety. It’s a vulnerable position, calling someone when you’re lost in the throws of an anxiety meltdown. You’re open.  Exposed. Raw. And although I know it’s not true, it makes me feel even more lost when I have to fight through it alone.

I think part of me thinks that the “others” will leave me. That once they see a glimpse of my bleak side that they’ll abandon our friendship. That they’ll realize how worthless and unlovable I am and leave. I understand that that’s a cognitive distortion. I know I am worthy and lovable. What I don’t know how to do, is get the cognitive distortion to shut up. I can quiet it often, and occasionally for longer periods of time, but the minute I am overtired or over stressed, out comes the doubt and anxiety. It lives inside the stretch marks across my lower abdomen. Inside my ‘Wagner waddle’. Inside my inability to remember how I forged such emotionally close/intimate relationships with my four close friends to begin with. Inside the constant bad messages on OKC and the constant lack of replies. Inside the, week of normal conversation turned to ‘so tell me how you want to be fucked.’  I’m so tired of hating myself but can’t seem to make, not doing so, stick around long enough.

One week later, I’m writing a letter nightly…

My parents haven’t called me since July.  I saw them in July.

My parents moved to Florida from Upstate NY in February of 2015.  I had a very very hard time with it.  I’ve also done extensive work in therapy about why I’ve had the feelings I’ve had about them moving and how to work through them.

I’ve done a lot of work with my therapist about whether or not I can say something to them.  Is this just them?  Is it just how they are?  Maybe.  They did the best they could.  They’ve raised two wonderful daughters.  They’ve given up a lot of my sister and I.  They worked hard, provided for us, supported us, loved us the best way they knew how.  How can I possibly take grief in them enjoying their retirement?  I can’t.  And I’ve done the work to process those feelings.

The problem now, is that I literally don’t hear from them.  They answer my text messages.  They answer my phone calls.  I have not had one uninitiated conversation with my parents since I last saw them in July.

Are there still things I need to work through?  Absolutely.  But they have things to work through too.  Don’t they want to call their kids?  Don’t they care at all?  My dad just texted “I brag about you everyday.”  That’s great.  Fucking call me.

I’m just so exhausted.