I think I’m broken

I think there is something wrong with me.  I’m pretty sure that I am broken or in need of some form of repair.  No, I am not a household appliance (at least I wasn’t the last time I checked), and no, there is nothing physically wrong with me (aside from the extra weight I carry and the high blood pressure).

I’ve lost interest in everything.  Everything!  I don’t care about my job anymore.  I show up everyday, and I complete my tasks to the best of my ability, but it means nothing to me.  It would make no difference to me right now if the station went off the air.  I would feel the same way about a catastrophe at the station right now as I would about seeing the gravel in the parking lot.  I just don’t care.

Same with church.  Am I terrible for saying that?  I show up every Sunday morning.  I teach the lesson every week to the kids in my class.  I attend services.  I sing.  I take notes during the message.  I even pray.  But I feel like I’m on autopilot.  I’m just going through the motions.

My family is getting progressively more and more frustrated with me because I’m the same way at home.  I get home from work and sit on the couch until it’s time to go to bed.  I don’t cook.  I barely talk to my husband and son.  If I do talk to them, then it’s with the most minimal amount of words.  My temper is on a hair-trigger..  I’m pretty sure that my husband and son feel like they are walking around on eggshells around me.  “Be careful, because we don’t know what will set her off today.”

I have no interest in being around people.  I am perfectly content lately to hide in my house.  I don’t want to go anywhere.  I don’t want to do anything.  I don’t want to talk to anyone.  The thought of having to fake my way through a social interaction makes me feel physically ill.

What is wrong with me?

It could be stress.  I’m sure that’s a pretty big factor.  I’m sure there is some measure of anxiety going on.  But what scares me is that I am normally a pretty bubbly person, but over the last few weeks there has been nothing to be happy about.  Any laughter that comes out of me, any smile that settles on my mouth, is fake.  Today I started crying in one of the studios because I couldn’t figure out how to perform a simple task with a satellite receiver.  Yesterday I started crying at church because I had a disagreement with a friend about how many beats there were in between the verse and chorus of a song.  Every emotional nerve ending is raw and exposed and hypersensitive.  I just want to go home, climb into bed, and stay there until I am magically not this way any longer.

There are no feelings of sadness or hopelessness.  I just don’t care about anything any longer.  The best way to explain it like this.  Say you are born with a set amount of caring to give to a certain thing in your life.  Once you use up all of that caring then you are no longer capable of caring about that thing any longer.  That’s where I’m at.  I have used up all of my give-a-care for everything and now I just can’t.  I think it’s actually a coping mechanism.  It’s not that I can’t care.  Instead I refuse to care . . . about anything.  WHY?

I’ve not talked to anyone about this, though I’m sure everyone around me can tell that something is not right with me.  I’m embarrassed, though.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m looking for a pity party, or that I’m whining about my laid-back-and-easy job at the radio station.  And maybe I don’t want anyone to think that I am capable of being less than the glitter and rainbows and unicorns that everyone thinks I am.  I’m supposed to be sparkly.  Maybe I just would like one person to look at me and say, “what’s wrong?”  Maybe I would like one person to say, “I’ve been there before, too, and this feeling won’t last forever.”  I feel alone.

Am I alone?

What is wrong with me?

What kind of person refuses to care about everything in their life?

Is there something wrong with me?

Am I broken?

Am I crazy?

recluse

Until next time . . .

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