The Cousins

The cousins arrived today. Not my cousins, technically my mother’s cousins. All the way from across the pond, where that whole half of my family still resides. From the London/Windsor area, specifically.

I’ve been so looking forward to this. When they were here last year I remember having a session with my then-therapist about how uplifting having them here was – real true close family even if they are from thousands of miles, an ocean, and a continent way. Intelligent people. Worldly people. Joyful, happy, laughing people. Cosmopolitan people. People who do things. It was (and is) inspiring. They’re the people I want to be, wish I could be, feel like I should be.

Tonight, though, as happy as I was to see them and experiencing those same thoughts, there were other undertones. I wasn’t talking or laughing as much as before. I felt uneasy. I don’t know how much they know about my situation. So an innocent question like “how’s work?” sends me into a mini tailspin of panic and near self-loathing. Especially when it comes right after the story about how 2 of the cousins are in an adult rock & roll choir on Tuesday nights that has played Wembley Arena and recorded on Abbey Road. Or how another cousin recently happened to be driving around the designer of the iPhone on his way to Buckingham Palace to be Knighted. Or about the recent dinner party where groups dressed up in full costume regalia as a music group of choice and then performed as Abba for the group in full 70s gear. Or about the recent trips to Crete and Dubai. Or the evening trips to the theater, ballet, etc. And these are not overly glamorous people – its just how life in London is.

It just brings to light how pitiful my life here and now is. One even brought me a beautiful gift of a purse “that would be just perfect for evening.” Only thing is, my evenings nowadays certainly do not involve specific handbag attire according to activity – if activity even exists.

I did have one positive spark in the sense that I thought – hey, I have control over how I spend my life. I live 90 minutes from DC, what’s to say once my work schedule is cut and solidified I can’t spend, say, Mondays at a museum in the city or walking a favorite neighborhood? The devil on my shoulder reminds me that I hardly have the means for a fly by night lifestyle and that as hard as I try to look for things to do around here I just have to face that there is no local rock and roll choir here and Abbey Road is thousands of miles away no matter what. But I can choose to be more cultured and involved if its what I love, right? I don’t want to become a pathetic lump of mentally ill nothingness, wandering aimlessly from day to day just trying to survive. I don’t want to feel this way.

I’m hoping tonight was a fluke. That the happiness and joy will rub off my way soon and this weird unwelcome feeling of “ew, look at her life, how sad” will quickly pass.

And I hope I can keep the motivation to find a reason to use that purse. Hence why I’m forcing myself to write all this down.

Now, I think I deserve just a taste of all that chocolate they brought over with them. In my PJs. At 9:30 on a Saturday night. No handbag required.


One comment on “The Cousins

  1. Susan Irene Fox
    September 14, 2014

    It’s difficult when we compare ourselves to other people. We are each, even with bp, made uniquely and wonderfully, with our own rich qualities.
    I’m an introvert, and I think your pajama-clad, 9:30 date with chocolate (sans handbag), is the most delightful evening I could possibly plan for myself. šŸ˜‰


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This entry was posted on September 14, 2014 by in Anxiety, Bipolar, BPD, Coping, DBT, Depression, Irrational Thinking, Manic, mental health, Mood Swings and tagged , , .

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