2016 is drawing to a close; I just gave myself a shot of Toradol (think strong Motrin) for an unbelievable headache induced from physical therapy; I have two MAJOR assignments due tomorrow for class; I’m about to have a houseful of teenagers, and I’ve yet to do any of the food prep for said hooligans because I’ve been sitting at the computer attempting to at least make a dent in these nursing projects.

Naturally, the most obvious course of action is to ignore all of the above (except the headache but I’m really freaking trying) and throw down a blog piece reflecting on the happenings of 2016.

2016 marked the end of a long-standing relationship of mine.  To be sure, things with G were always on-again, off-again (which really should have been a clue/red flag), but that ending really knocked the wind out of me.  And it taught me a few things about myself that I’ve finally just realized over probably the past month or so:  break ups are EXCRUCIATING for me.  Don’t get me wrong:  I understand that break ups are difficult for everyone.  But after losing my mom at such a young age and having this huge, gaping wound left in her place has made endings particularly painful for me.  It’s kind of like ripping off the bandage before the injury is healed and reopening the wound.  It is, I suspect, the exact reason why I have had a tendency to stay in unhealthy relationships far longer than I should.  While the relationship may be painful (and even damaging), the pain I feel from ending it feels unbearable.  Logically, I know this is untrue.  In my mind, I can tell myself that the pain will not kill me.  But my heart tends to win those arguments.  I’m not particularly proud of that fact, but it’s the ugly and rather pathetic truth.

Another ah-ha realization over this past month is that as much as I’ve talked about wanting a relationship and a partner and blah, blah, blah ….. I really don’t.  That’s why I was satisfied with on-again, off-again for so long:  because I want someone there just a little bit.  Chasing G was safe.  Had he allowed himself to be caught or even intimate that he was ready for that type of serious commitment, I suspect I’d have responded the way I always have to that:  I feel like the white-striped-painted cat in Pepe le Pew who struggles to free herself as he loves all over her.  I mean, that is EXACTLY what it feels like to me when someone attempts to connect on that level:  suffocating.

This past month has also brought with it an oppressive bout of depression the likes of which I have not experienced in years. Literal years.  No hyperbole.  I suppose that’s where the insights come from:  I’m actually looking at all my horrible patterns because that’s what depression does:  focuses in with laser-like accuracy on any/all faults/failings/fuck ups.  My saving grace is two-fold:  two amazing daughters to whom I owe my continued motivation to get my ass out of bed and to go to work, and every damn one of my forty-four years I’ve been on this earth.  The girls keep me going day-in and day-out and my age (maturity?!) reminds me that even though this depression feels NEVER ENDING, it isn’t.  It will end.  It will because it always has.  And though the days in between may be long and hard and painful and sad and crushing ….  those days will come to an end.  I know they will.  Depression will try to tell me otherwise, but at least in that sense, I’m smarter than the beast.

So looking forward to 2017 is not an easy task for me right now.  The future feels pretty damn bleak.  But in my mind, MY mind—not the bullshit depressed mind—I know that 2017 will be a year of growth for me.  My girls will continue to emerge into young women and will exercise their independence, bit by bit.  I’ll continue with school, as arduous and as challenging as it is with work and kids.  I’ll keep going to physical therapy in search of an end to these headaches (I really think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, people!!!!).  Perhaps most importantly, I’m going to consciously work on ME.  Of course I’ve always gone to therapy.  That’s always been a given.  But the end of that relationship and the subsequent months of (mostly) silence have shown me how much more work there is to be done on Jenny Lou.  There’s still a wounded little girl in there who needs to heal from her mom’s death.  And sister’s death.  And brother’s death.  And divorce.  And betrayal.  Lots of healing needs to happen—which means lots of work and lots of sitting with crappy feelings that I’m an expert at ignoring and suppressing.

So now I’m going to whip up some chocolate and cheese fondue with the help of two teen girls.  I’d like to say that I’m excited and looking forward to 2017, but I’m mostly just looking forward to the cheese fondue.

Happy New Year, Y’all.  Wishing you all good things like fondue and sparkling grape juice.