My mind seems to have found an odd neural pathway I thought was long gone. Destroyed out of self-preservation and unwillingness to put myself in similar situations as I once was. A state of overwhelm after being subjected to an onslaught of information, with little time to process it. It’s a constant battle to outpace your mental load before it consumes you. It’s just a fact of life, and it comes in ebbs and flows. Yet, keeping a steady pace sometimes isn’t enough to outrun that monster chasing after you.
It’s like this: you’re running and encounter people, but each time you go to say hello, they hand you something. At times, it’s a mere exchange of greetings, a light burden like a pen and paper. And other times, they hand you bricks that weigh you down as you continue on your journey. That’s what it feels like at times. Burdensome. And it can be extremely exhausting. Especially when you’re the one carrying the load.
I wish I had people to run with who could lighten the burden. It would be far easier to get to the finish line if that were the case. Yet, I am still here, going the distance with these bricks with no one to support me. At this point, I just want to throw in the towel. Drop the bricks and allow myself to be branded as the asshole who says, “it’s not my problem anymore”. I just want a break.
But it’s hard to put everything down when your time is consumed by more spontaneous, time-sensitive tasks. I didn’t ask for this. My breaks haven’t been breaks. I’ve had very little ‘me time’ in the past how ever many weeks it has been. Endless questions flood my inbox, more work keeps being piled onto me, and I feel it may swallow me at any second. I need people to stop asking if I need to talk about it and actually help me get rid of the burden they put on me.
Sooner or later, I will snap. And I was already so close to it on Friday evening. I could tell. Whatever I felt during that moment brought me back to a place I didn’t want to revisit. But in my distress, there have been small pockets of joy that have crept in. I am grateful beyond words as my Friday night brought comfort food with friends I love so, so much. To sit at an unassuming restaurant and chat for hours, and then go on a little girls’ walk (since all the men had to leave) was a welcome distraction.
But distractions are just that. Distractions. They don’t solve your problems because they keep waiting for you once the magic has worn off. And the magic has indeed worn off, returning me to that place of trauma once more. Unwilling, yet still thinking about it. The loneliness of feeling as if I had to fight my battles alone, despite being in a committed relationship, and feeling as if I was carrying the mental load on my own. And my body continues to remember. Of course, this situation isn’t quite the same, but that same sensation of overwhelm was enough to trigger such uninvited thoughts.
If the one person who was supposed to have your back repeatedly didn’t show up for you, wouldn’t you feel terrible too? I don’t like thinking about how much I’d agonised over trying to make even the small things work. Everything seemed so logistically inconceivable, and I began to wonder whether I had lost my touch. Organising something as simple as a weekly date night was impossible, and that fell upon my shoulders to figure out.
But in hindsight, it’s to be expected with someone who had one foot out the door the entire time. It was exhausting and lonely. And honestly? It was soul-crushing. I wasted three and a half years of my life putting so much effort into someone who chronically neglected me. In these circling thoughts, my stress is stained by the grief of a failed relationship and the unfortunate familiarity of lonely thoughts in carrying that great mental load. Yet, in a strange turn of events, I am left with these humiliating feelings of missing him and what little comfort he once provided.
But enough about that; back to the mental load. It’s an age-old problem for wives and mothers managing busy households. I’m not even there yet, and I’m nearly ready to give up. So it’s extra stressful when people have the best of intentions but accidentally make your life harder in the process without being aware of it. Just maybe, people still don’t seem to understand how much thought goes into mundane tasks like grocery shopping, organising small get-togethers, and relaying information.
Just thinking about the above examples stresses me out. Yet, with some degree of reluctance, and joy in having these responsibilities, I will continue to press forward. I just hope I will not suffer at the same intensity as I once did. In the loneliness, frustration, and constant pursuit of clarity in logistics… and in my relationship. I do hope I’ll be able to find someone who can be cognizant of my mental load and build a life with them. But for now, I will continue to process the pinches and papercuts I once endured.
Why do we endure such things as the pinches and papercuts? Perhaps it’s because the disappointments start out small. Taking accountability isn’t quite as necessary until every negative sentiment snowballs into an avalanche of resentment that you try to run from, right? But that’s why communication is so important. It prevents contempt and bitterness from multiplying.
Jumping from an insignificant offence, such as forgetting to pick up a parcel, to full-blown breaches of trust in the frequent slights of blindsiding, isn’t usually how resentment builds. But once it gets to a certain point—when you experience the aftereffects of the flashbacks, nightmares, the panic and anxiety—you know the betrayal is real. And if the offender didn’t do anything to help with the healing through the triggers, that means they failed to take responsibility for the pain they caused.
For my suffering to be treated like a mere inconvenience is like swimming in the thoughts of a sinister whisper condemning me for continuing to bring up the past. You can say that all you want. For you, it was one past mistake. But for me, I live through the nightmare of your betrayals over and over as if it’s the present. And that shapes my future. Not yours.
It’s because I trusted you that I had to sit through the discomfort and pain to figure out why I wasn’t good enough. Why I wasn’t likeable. Why I wasn’t loveable. And despite the emotional exhaustion and mental toll it took on me, I still found ways to love you.
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