OverFlow: On Emotional Breakdowns & Faith in Gratitude
I do know one thing: Gratitude is my faith and my religion. I will never stop being grateful. I will never get used to this. Thank you, Universe.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them. Full disclosure: This is something I wrote on August 28, 2015. I had another emotional breakdown recently, but I’m not ready to process it through writing yet. This old post will have to do in the meantime.
This week, I had a breakdown. I wish I were talking about putting a breakdown in the middle of a song I was writing—or better, about being treated to a live performance of Mariah Carey’s “Breakdown” by the elusive chanteuse herself—but sadly, I’m talking about the excessively tiring emotional kind.
A small and otherwise insignificant event triggered it, but that’s not the best way to put it.
In reality, my breakdown was the result of my constant and resigned acceptance of what now feels like 10 million “small and otherwise insignificant” things, over and over again. This wouldn’t have been a problem if the one person who could calm me down was available to talk to me. But, as dependable and wonderful as he is, the love of my life needs to sleep sometimes, just like any other human being. He’s not a superhuman, and neither am I.
So, I broke. I snapped! To put it bluntly, I went bat-shit insane.
This was a problem, because: 1) it was a weekday, and I needed to shut this situation down before it affected my work; 2) I didn’t know how to get through the breakdown without my usual fix for it; and 3) for some inexplicable reason, I can’t talk to even my closest friends about my feelings—especially when they’re negative.
This has something to do with my other neuroses: performance anxiety and the fear of not being good enough in the things I choose to do.
As I dig deeper, I find that “not good enough” is a constant refrain in the song that is my life.
I’m afraid that I’m not a good enough musician. I’m afraid that I’m not a good enough writer. I’m afraid that I’m not a good enough friend. I’m afraid that I’m not a good enough person, period. With music and writing, I’ve found that it helps to just be guided by gratitude—I talked about that in my last tiny letter. But how do you translate that knowledge in terms of dealing with a complete emotional breakdown?
My husband—who, bless his soul, has been dealing with this side of me for years and has yet to give up on me—always tells me to trust in my close friends. I do trust them; don’t get me wrong. It’s myself that I don’t trust.
I don’t trust myself to be good enough.
(There it is again; that awful refrain!) I honestly think that if my friends were exposed to even a fraction of my craziness, they would just stop being there for me because I would be too much of a burden and a bother to be worthwhile as a friend. The logical part of my brain insists that this is bullshit (and indeed, it is), but my heart insists that this is a valid consideration—even now, days after the breakdown is over and my friends have proved their resilience more than twice over.
This brings me to my next point and the conclusion to this story, rambling, thoughtcatalog-esque piece—however else you want to call this tiny letter. After crying, kicking, screaming, shouting, and thrashing until I had no energy left, I felt so empty and useless. Without thinking, I sent out an S.O.S. to five of my closest friends (four of which don’t even live in the same time zone we’re in). Three of them responded within seconds. The other two responded within the hour. All of them patiently listened, offered advice, and tried their best to make me feel better. Some of them even chastised me for apologizing because I was afraid that I’d bothered them at work or woken them up. What does it say about me that—even now—I don’t believe that I deserve that much attention and love from people I would probably give my life to protect?
I’m still searching for an answer to that question, but for now, I’m just thankful that I have friends who are strong enough to weather the storm that is Typhoon Maria.
And there it is again: Gratitude.
It always comes back to that. I may never understand why it’s ingrained in me to always think that I’m not good enough.
I may never understand why, despite my shortcomings, I continue to be surrounded by so much positivity and love—especially when I need it the most. But I do know one thing: Gratitude is my faith and my religion. I will never stop being grateful. I will never get used to this. Thank you, Universe.
Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash
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