All around me, it seems like the people I love are hurting. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
And, while I’m pretty much doing okay, it’s all starting to take a toll. I’m finding myself crying in quiet moments.
And, with my friends, I feel like I’ve been talking about all this crap too much, letting loose on them. I don’t want to lose my friends because I’m whining, so I hold back. No one has any answers, and I think I make them feel bad with all this crap. And I really don’t want to push them all away.
So I bottle it up. I cry when I’m alone. I eat too many fats and carbs and I drink too much coffee. I don’t exercise, although I know it would probably help my psyche. I’m so tired at night that I rarely have more than one glass of wine (although I kinda want to drink the whole bottle).
I want to get together with friends, but I also want to cut myself off from everyone.
Hmmm, reading all this, maybe I need a therapist.
(Doctor’s appointment – check).
Going through all this, I’m reminded of what I’ve always done in any uncomfortable situation: FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT. So, right now, I’m faking it, pretending that I’m okay. I’m smiling, and organizing, and cleaning, and reading, and writing. I’m getting my younger daughter ready for school every morning, making sure my other daughter is awake and out of the house on time. I’m making sure dinner is on the table and that all the clothes are washed(my older daughter does her own, but still). I’m absorbing the anger from those that are suffering while not trying to let myself wallow in my own anger and despair.
When people ask me how I’m doing, I say “Okay.” Or “I’m okay.” I smile and joke. I talk about mundane things. I keep saying that nothing more can happen to us so we’re done, but then one more thing shows up on our doorstep. And then I smile some more.
Fake it ’til you make it.
I’m the unreliable narrator of my own life.
I get it. I’m pretending I’m all good, hoping that the outcome will be to my liking. I’m making the life around me look sunnier than it really is. I’m ignoring the bad and hoping for the best outcome possible.
Now, I’m mostly an optimist in life. I believe in the power of positive thinking (to a point), and I believe in the power of a smile.
So I fake it. And hope we make it.
If I were writing my story in the way I tell it to most people, I would be as unreliable as the most unreliable narrator. I wouldn’t be as diabolical as the Amazing Amy (Gone Girl), but, if you see behind my facade, you’ll think me as delusional as Pi (The Life of Pi). My personality may be as split as Tyler Durden’s (Fight Club), but I’m going to keep smiling, showing you my sunny side.
So yes, I’m my own unreliable narrator. But maybe this sunny, happy view of life will come true. Maybe all this faking it will help us make it through this incredible string of bad.
Everyday I remind myself of the good things in my life. I’m relatively healthy. We have a roof over our heads. My older daughter is motivated and smart and has a good head on her shoulders. My younger daughter is naturally sunny and smiley, happy as long as her basic needs are met. My husband works his butt off for our family, and makes me laugh everyday. We live in a great town.
I have a job that lets me work from home and gives me time to write my own drivel. I have people in my life that will step in and help out. There are so many good thoughts and prayers being said for us by so many good people, and I feel the love.
Because of these good things, I can unreliably narrate my life. I can smile and say, “I’m okay.”
I can fake it ’til I make it.