“I don’t understand you or your illness and it makes me angry.” His words left me speechless as I stood quietly in the kitchen, washing the sink full of dishes I never even used.
I’m pretty fragile emotionally and there seems to be no place for people who have similar anxiety levels, sometimes even the home doesn’t feel quite homey.
So, my son doesn’t understand me– I don’t understand the world, it is a sick place to live. Yes, there are good things about life, too and I try my best to focus on those; however, once you let someone in, you tend to subject yourself to his or her perspective and his or her day. Although some people you have to let in because they’re family, I’ve discovered this to be especially true while working as well. It seems that there are very little opportunities for those who want to just make a living flying solo rather than having to be a part of a team. It doesn’t matter what perpetuates us in the workforce because no matter where we land, we are all just cogs in a machine. My problem is finding the correct machine for me because so far, I’m the cog that doesn’t fit.
I don’t understand it either, it makes me angry too.