stuck

My littlest sister got engaged tonight.

My sister-in-law just told us that she's pregnant with her second baby.

These are two things that I should be so excited about. I should be jumping up and down. I normally would.

So I don't know why they hit me like a wrecking ball.

I tried to sort it out all weekend, tried to sift through my feelings like the muddy floor of a California river. But I never found any gold. Just a lot of mud.

The closest thing I could come up with was that it's hard for me to watch life moving on for other people. I felt stuck before, but I almost feel more stuck now. Maybe because it was easier to pretend I wasn't stuck when I was the only one who knew how fucked up I am. Now that everyone else knows, I can't really pretend anymore.

I'm stuck.

I am twenty-six years old. I have a college degree. I have a husband. I have a house. I have a car. I have a full time job.

I am depressed. I have anxiety. I don't eat.

I am getting help.

I don't want help.

I am taking medication.

I hate my medication.

I already had my major breakdown, so why do I constantly feel like I'm on the verge of another one?

I went to a little party celebrating my sister's engagement tonight. Crushed into the corner on the arm of an over-sized thrift store armchair, I felt lost. My sister's friends are all young, beautiful, and loud. They have a sort of brash, honest, openness that my sister has and I do not. I sat in my corner, sipped at an Arnold Palmer, and ignored the table loaded with cupcakes and chips and cake.

I know some of them know things about me. I know my sister freaked out when she found out I was in the hospital. I know she was with some friends when she got the call.

So now I'm the crazy, broken older sister in shabby thrift store boots and tired eyes. The one who tried to kill herself. The one in treatment for an eating disorder. That one.

On the way home, my mother called. I thought she wanted to talk about my sister, so I answered. I was wrong. She wanted to talk about me. She wanted to know how I was. She wanted to know how my medication was working, if I had any upcoming appointments. My Dad wanted to know if we would come home for Christmas if they bought us tickets. Any day. It didn't matter. But the decision! It needs to be made! Oh, and how was my assessment? How do I feel about going into an eating disorder treatment center that I still haven't told my mother about?

The call caught me off guard and left me feeling like a human pin ball, careening, overwhelmed.

I hate that I can't be honest with my parents, and I hate that they expect me to be.

I have two adorable nieces and one adorable nephew already. I don't get to see them very often. Casualties of having moved 1,000 miles away from your family in a desperate attempt to stay sane. I love them, but they don't know me. I am the aunt who lives far away. I want them to love me. I want to have a close relationship with them, but they're just little kids, and I'm a stranger.

Now there will be another one.

And I am happy for her. Very. She's wanted a second baby for a long time. I'm happy to have another niece or nephew, but for some reason it also just makes me feel so tired. So heavy. Another piece of life to worry about.

Another reminder that I'm twenty-six and still not suited to be a mother.

Another reminder that everyone else is continuing on with their lives. Growing up. Getting married. Having babies. Graduating college. Moving to different states.

And I am curled up on my bed in a crippling panic, furious at myself over eating too much celery.

Stuck.