I'm sorry your life is a dumpster fire
This past weekend was met with a lot of calamities — shockingly, none of which were my own.
It started with my mom having some sort of anxiety attack. (My parents have been married for more than 40 years, and like most married couples who've been together this long, they fucking hate each other.) So anyway, my mom texted me Friday evening, panicking that my dad owed her money.
"Did he say he wasn't gonna pay it?" I asked.
"No, he said he would pay it," she texted back.
"So what's the problem?"
"I fear he won't!"
"Mom, go to sleep."
"My life's a prison...."
Cue a lifetime's worth of emotional baggage vomited into a novel-length text message.
Despite how annoying it is to deal with, I completely empathize with her situation. However, there's not much I can do about it besides cowardly ghost her and deal with her later when I have the energy. I bought her some CBD gummies to help her sleep and maybe ease up on the late-night freakouts, but of course she refused to take them.
"The only drug I take is aspirin," she told me.
"Mom, it's not weed. It's CBD."
"CB-what? Will it get me high??"
Sadly, mom's not the only person in my life having some catastrophic life emergency.
My close friend from college called me to let me know she finally found the correct cocktail of anti-depressants. I thought this was good news considering the last time I spoke to her she told me her anti-depressants were keeping her up at night. She told me she was sick of her life and was tired of being mentally sick all the time.
"I feel a lot like your mom," she told me. "I feel like my life's also a prison."
I put on my best therapist impression and recommended she take up hobbies, try to find a job, and maybe learn to meditate. She thanked me and told me she always felt better after chatting with me.
While talking to her, I got a text from another friend: "I'm having a panic attack. Call me back."
My other friend, who's currently going through a divorce, told me she needed help booking a hotel due to her debit card being hacked and her ex-husband not being cooperative.
"I'm so sick of life being so hard," she vented. "I sometimes feel like I can't go on."
"Are you okay?" I asked, worried.
"Oh yeah, I'm doing better. Just panicking."
After hanging up I felt like having a panic attack myself.
It's weird — people have always told me I'm a great listener, but it has many downsides. I often feel like a dumping ground for people's emotions. It's emotionally taxing in a way I don't feel comfortable admitting. Because, if I'm being honest, my life is way better in comparison to some of my friends and family. It's one of the reasons I don't feel comfortable even talking about my own problems because they feel so inconsequential.
When my dog died I was depressed for about two months, but I felt silly talking about it. Because who cares about an elderly dog dying? I'm sure that's what people are thinking. "Get over it. It was just a dog. I have real problems and you don't." So I just keep it to myself and absorb, like a sponge, the turmoils of others.
I have no idea what to do about it. I've noticed I tend to passively make myself unavailable when I'm emotionally spent, but usually, I try to play the role of the calm, supportive friend/daughter who has her shit together and is here to help.
I don't mind playing that role. I really don't. But at what cost?