Groundhog’s Day Vortex

I find myself stuck in a sort of Groundhog’s Day vortex. I’m not sure how else to explain it. Much like Bill Murray in the movie, I know it’s happening. I’m so fucking aware that it is happening, but I haven’t stopped it. It’s not that I don’t want to stop it. It’s not that I don’t know how to stop it. I just can’t seem to do it. I can’t seem to do what I know I need to do. Hence, the endless Groundhog’s Day Vortex.

I feel stuck. Stuck in a marriage that isn’t moving. It is stagnant and slowly dying. The life waters that once flowed through the marriage with love, have stopped dead. Not even a trickle escapes the dam I created. I feel guilt, and pity and fear and sadness. I feel an overwhelming urge to scream and to rant and to rage at the top of my lungs. I want to scream “HEAR ME, SEE ME, TALK TO ME”. But it will not matter. It will not change him. It will shut him down more, if that is possible. Why? Why, after 37 years of a relationship has it come to this? I know and admit to my part in the failure. Does he? Will he? Can he?

Each day gets easier to let go in some ways, and harder in others. The kids and grandkids visited on Sunday. All at the same time. It’s what I refer to as mass chaos and it’s fucking fabulous. My little people calling out, “Mimi” and my big people calling me the same or at times going old school and calling me mom. Two things I cherish most in this fucked up world. Two words that I hope to hear for a very long time. Days like Sunday make it harder. The guilt of destroying a family that has always been together. And, at the same time, the guilt of me pretending to be okay. Nothing seems fair. I know, I know – life isn’t fair.

There are so many things I have wanted out of this life. Each time I try to break out, try to remember who I am as a person, not as a Mimi or mom or wife – just me, I can’t do it. I don’t know who I am. I lost my persona in taking care of everyone around me. Is that fair? Is that okay? Is it okay to just be and never grow or venture out? I am not young and I’m not old. I’m more than middle age, but I’m not dead. I have so much life inside of me. I feel it. I feel it bubbling and surging through my body. Hoping for a release, for that moment when my mind wakes the fuck up, opens all the doors and windows to my soul and screams, “WATCH THE FUCK OUT – I’M FREE”. Damn, what will that feel like?

To be as old as I am and to be as scared as I am is very sad. I feel like I have an invisible shell surrounding me. Each time I try to break free, each time I get the smallest crack in that shell something stops me from being able to push harder to get out. Someone is always filling in those cracks with Flex Seal and I have to find another place to try and break free without anyone noticing.

I bought all the supplies I need to start painting. Watercolors to be specific. I used to oil paint when I was in my teens. I have always dabbled in some way with various artsy stuff. I’m not great, I’m not awful, but I enjoy it. I want to learn to paint with watercolors. The paints, canvas, brushes, and online classes are all ready. But I feel stupid doing it. I hear the voices of others. Why bother, it’s a waste of time and money. Why would I want to sit in a room and paint when I could be sitting in the family room in silence watching Netflix from after dinner until bedtime.

I want to learn to play the piano, well keyboard to start. I need music in my life. I love music. I want my fingers to create that music. Even if it’s a nursery rhyme to start. I want that. I need that. And the voices start. Why would I do that at my age? I’ll never follow through. It’s a waste of time and money. Why create it when I can just listen to it. Stupid me.

I dug my good yoga mat out. I downloaded an app that’s FREE and has hundreds of workouts. I need to stretch my body. I need to move and feel alive. I’m embarrassed to say I’m going upstairs to work out for a bit. Why? Why is that embarrassing for me? Is it because of me or because of the reaction I will get? I hate me for feeling that and what I have become because of it.

I have given up. Wow, that just slapped me in the face. Like tears and panic attack slapped me in the face. I have given up on me. I have given up on breaking free and living life on my terms. I have accepted what others what of me and what others think of me. I have accepted being just okay.

I do not want that. I do not want to accept being just okay anymore. I want to break away from the feeling of guilt, just for wanting more from the time I have left. I want to live. I deserve it and all the joys and tears that come with living life to the fullest.

Now, who knows how to remove Flex Seal?