Lit*er*al*ly living in the Upside Down

Truth Serum Tell #16

The day started with a 4am “bathroom call” and ended when I came home and snapped at them.

Dad: “Guess you missed our text about dinner.”

Me: “Yep.”

Sis: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “I’m just tired is all.”

Dad, mumbling: “Well, I’m tired, too.”

My Ally McBeal response: “But are you tired at work? No. Are you unfocused at work? No. Because you’re FUCKING RETIRED. You don’t have to worry about making mistakes at work when you’re tired and unfocused because YOU’RE FUCKING RETIRED!”

Me: saying nothing at all.

I took a long shower, promptly went to my room, and closed the door.

Then I went into the tiny closet, closed the door, sat on the floor, and screamed into the black void.

Black voids.

I’m familiar with those.

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Welcome to Lit*er*al*ly, Ororo, a weekly blog by me, Ororo Munroe. You are reading Truth Serum Tells, posts about deeper life shit. No needles or toxic, mind-bending drugs were used to write these posts. Thanks for reading.

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Stranger Things is one of my favorite shows on Netflix. If you’re familiar with the show then you know about the Upside Down.

This place looks scary as fuck

It’s an alternate dimension that mirrors our world — or at least our world if it was a toxic hellscape overrun with creepy, moving vines, is constantly experiencing electrical storms, and filled with murderous creatures linked together in a hive mind system like this Venus Flytrap looking thing.

AKA Demogorgon

This dimension is controlled by Vecna.

I don’t know who’s worse… Freddy or this dude

He feeds off your negative energy, uses it against you, and traps you in his world.

The pour souls that end up getting pulled into this place never make it out alive.

Not Nancy’s friend.

Not Max’s brother, Billy.

Not that cheerleader who was visiting Eddie in his trailer.

Not Eddie himself (man, that was a sad loss).

And certainly not those jerkwad dudes from the basketball team (I wasn’t at all sad to see their Captain bite the dust).

But Will made it out alive.

Will was in this scorched hell for a week before his friends and a super-powered girl named Eleven rescued him.

He got lucky, even though he still felt connected to this evil creature.

Isn’t that the way of things? Once you’ve been touched by Darkness (maybe even lived through it), it never really leaves you, right?

Yeah.

I get it.

If fear, guilt, depression, sadness, resentment, jealousy, anger, frustration, suicidal thoughts, helplessness, and desperation existed in a physical place… it would be the Upside Down.

And I’ve been a frequent visitor for about a year.

These visits would be triggered by Dad telling me Mom didn’t recognize him…again; Dad telling me Mom mistook him for her stepfather; Mom having a Crying Moment thinking Dad doesn’t love her anymore and is leaving her for another woman; Mom not remembering everyone on her side of the family is dead; Dad telling me Mom cussed him out; Mom not recognizing me as her daughter and saying she has a son; Dad not getting enough sleep because she got up at 2am again…

Sadness, helplessness, and worry were constant emotions roiling under the surface. And there was Vecna, waiting in the background, reaching out with his tentacles and tap-tap-tapping me on the shoulder.

However, ever since The Incident, it’s been Besties Night In with Ol’ Vecna pouring me glasses of Stella Rosa Peach and keeping a room open for me.

I’ve been wearing resentment like a trench coat with guilt wrapped around my neck like a scarf.

I resent that my life is no longer my own.

I resent that I have no energy to work on my side business.

I resent that my sister and I are doing the heavy lifting (even worse when Mom’s resisting and being dead weight).

I feel guilty for thinking that because I know if Dad tries to lift anything heavy, his hernia will pop out.

I feel guilty for wishing she was in a home care facility with a feeding tube so at least we’d know she’s getting enough nutrients.

I feel guilty for wishing she was bedridden, so we won’t have to deal with the heavy lifting.

I’m tired from all the early morning “bathroom calls”. Which requires me to tell my coworkers that I’ll be late. Which requires me to work late.

I feel tired and achy from all the heavy lifting and the use of unused muscles.

I feel despair when I shake out 3 Advil Liquigels for the ache and stare a little too long at the remaining contents, contemplating, contemplating, contemplating…

I’m jealous of my sister, who not only gets to work from home 3 days a week (which she’s doing from our house), but she actually gets to go home. To her own place. Every night. (And then she comes and stays the weekend).

I feel trapped here. In this house. With its heavy energy of sadness weighing me down.

I feel disconnected and detached from the woman who gave me life. I may verbally call her Mom, but in my mind, I refer to her by her given name.

I’m disappointed with myself because for the first time in my life, I’m eating my feelings. I’ve been trying to transition to a whole-food, plant-based diet since I was 50. I’ll be 53 in June, and I should be incorporating more Meatless Mondays into my life, but that ain’t happenin’.

I get irritated every time my Dad asks, “What are we gonna do about dinner?” because if he hadn’t cancelled the Fresh’n’Lean meal service for him and Mom, we wouldn’t have to answer this question every. Fucking. Night. #Triggered

I worry about what this is doing to my Dad, watching the love of his life for the past 58 years waste away to nothing.

I worry about how my sister and I are going to care for my Dad if this happens, because there is NO WAY we’ll be able to lift him.

And all of these feelings that sit just under my skin make me wonder…

When this is all over, how will my grief manifest?

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SIDE NOTE STORY

I had debated on whether or not to publish this. I’ve been sitting on it for weeks now, wondering if I should insert the humorous journal question posts with something serious. Again.

But ever since The Incident, it’s been hard to even put a smile in my voice when I talk to people at my Corporate Hell job. Or see the joy in anything really.

I am fully aware that this is a cry for help.

I was doing virtual group counseling for adult children caregivers but stopped in September of last year.

I’ve talked to my sister.

Her response was to talk to a friend for me who’s a therapist, saying she had openings for me.

Another one of her friends said, “Just remember to breathe.”; I think my naturopathic doctor said the same thing.

Talking isn’t the problem. I don’t have a problem talking to a professional.

Meditation? Yeah, I want to try it.

Breathing techniques? Hell, I’m open.

But it’s hard to heal when I’m still living here with them.

I don’t have my own space. Yet. But I’m working on that this year.

My bestie of 30+ years said it best in a text recently: “I have no words but I love you. I am deeply sorry and I love you.”

I appreciate that she didn’t have any words, but that’s because she really knows me. Maybe more than my own family.

I had debated on whether or not to publish this. I’ve been sitting on it for weeks now, wondering if I should insert the humorous journal question posts with something serious. Again.

But then I remembered that in my last TST post, someone thanked me for being open and sharing my journey with all of this. It’s a journey I don’t want to be on. Honestly? No one ever wants to be on this journey.

But if you’re on this same road (a caregiver for a loved one) and sharing a room with Vecna in your own area of the Upside Down…

I have no words.

And I’m deeply sorry.

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