My head spins when I write and it isn't because of confusion, instead I have so much complicated emotions that left me discombobulated. I figure they will all come out in time, but it turns out I have to make time for them all to come out. I couldn't just sit there and meditate in silence or pray them out on paper anymore. I needed to write it in my blog. I kept myself away from it for so long because of fear of what I would write when I'm tattered, feeling alone, confused and broken. I am ashamed of the emotions I keep, but lo and behold it keeps me out of my dignity if I won't let my emotions out.
I wish you understand what I mean and how my emotions and stress levels have heightened in the past nine months, but it's not like keeping a baby inside my belly and releasing it out, instead it is keeping stress inside myself and ingesting my stresses knowing full well that it won't come out until I break down.
Finally, it did. I told my own mother that I was tired of taking care of her.
She looked at me with teary eyes after a weepy moment of sadness from losing hope that no one would take care of her.
I told her, "I love you, Mami. I'm here, but I'm burned out."
"But, you must to be happy that I'm still alive," she said.
I am happy that she's still alive after her battle with coronary heart disease, diabetes and so much more things that she was diagnosed with, but I am still burned out.
I caress her cheeks and wipe her tears, as she almost sobs, and told me, "I love you, Diana. I'm here for you, too."
I realize that care-taking an elderly parent is a two-way street. You take care of her, and she sends out love towards me in return. I'm lucky that I'm taking care of my Mami. Other people do this as a job and they take care of strangers who won't be able to return the love extended to them. In my case, my Mami supports me and instills in me, hope from her Bible verses and through talking it out together.
At this moment, my head is spinning and I feel like a piece of trash, but I'm trying to understand my emotions. I feel guilty, but I also don't. I was being honest, and maybe I shouldn't have told her, but she needed to know too, in case I am distant from her and I get so lazy from the burn out. The discomfort inside my head and my heart has to subside, right? It makes me tired and I am wishing for a vacation, but I'm not privy to that luxury. At least, not now. The confounding sorrow beset me with grief as I type these words, knowing full well that it might have been my own fault for keeping things inside me instead of utilizing my coping mechanism of journal writing or blog writing. I think I did this to myself.
I don't know what to do, except to pray it out and keep writing, and keep going to therapy. I have to excrete all these bad energy from my head and my heart and my core. It gnaws on me for the past nine months and it bore a hole inside my brain that I feel paralyzed when I'm writing. It's very complicated and I don't even know if I am making any sense at all. I figure I will just write, and keep writing.
#JustWrite