I am what the UK calls a flip-flopper. I change my mind all the time, constantly actually. Not my opinions. Oh, no. Anyone who knows me, knows I am strong in my opinions. What make me a flip-flopper is because, well, I’m not good with sticking with decisions. Actually, I’m becoming great at changing my mind. I see this happening more since Peter died, for so many reasons.
I’ve talked about this a lot in my blog, about how Peter made most of the decisions the past thirty years plus of my life. I allowed it. He took it on. It was how we rolled. Now, I’m stuck facing a life where it’s only me and I am a rookie to all of this. And not the star rookie who will wow anyone, just a rookie who has to learn the ropes, study the way Life throws a curve-ball, and size up the playing field. I make mistakes in the process. I’ll get there. I know. And until I do, my mistakes will be my lessons. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I also have an ADD brain. I’ve never been officially diagnosed, but the therapist who happens to be a psychologist, told me my brain checks off so many ADD boxes. I wasn’t surprised. I kind of already knew. I mean, my reading comprehension scores were always low and why? Did the powers-to-be really expect me to stay focus on a story about penguins in the Arctic? Then there’s the whole, i can’t sit still… not in church, in theaters, as a passenger in a car, or on a plane. My legs literally scream to me to get up and move. If you don’t know that feeling, first, good for you, and second, it is sooo daunting. When I watch TV or read a book, or even write, I have to get up and move, like a lot.
Anyway, I could have a test to confirm ADD, but at fifty-eight, why? I mean, I’ve already learned techniques to live and sometimes, even control it. Plus, what would happen? Medicine? Um, not an option. The only reason why I bring this up is because I think with a scattered brain as I call it, focus is so damn hard. And with some of the resolutions to be made, I need complete focus. Which I can do…for awhile. Then, well, I change my mind.
If you google why people change their mind, there are articles about depression and anxiety. And since Peter died, depression has come in pieces, and anxiety, my old friend anxiety, has rose in me like mercury on a hot summer day. When the depression comes, I have a “I don’t care” attitude which doesn’t always make for good decision making. And with anxiety? I fear a poor decision, one I may regret, or the wrong one. Second-guessing is Anxiety’s cousin.
All of what I told you thus far, is the reason I think I write well. My fast brain is working overtime to throw out plots and characters and settings. Thank goodness my finger tips keep up on my keyboard. And, lately, with depression and anxiety, my words have taken me to places of honesty and rawness I am in awe of. So, there are positives and, well, I kind of like my brain…minus the depression and anxiety. I don’t bore easy with it.
I bring this all up today because I am facing a few big decisions this week. I won’t go into them because I’m still working it all out. There are few deadlines I am facing and hoping for the best when they are reached. And you know, I want to go with my gut instincts. But Grief pushes them aside and Its new buddies anxiety and depression take over, blowing up my scattered brain. Sometimes, this is why I believe people think I make impulsive decisions. Maybe I have. I get it. I don’t like to ruminate. It gives doubt too much of an opening.
With Peter’s death, my unexpected, independent life, was thrown on me so suddenly. It wasn’t a metaphoric death of our marriage or partnership. It was a real death. He is gone, in any shape or form, he is gone. His leaving wasn’t agreed upon; neither of us agreed on it. His brilliant mind didn’t show me this is how to do XYZ , or hand out advice for me in the future. One day, one minute, he was gone and all his secrets on decision making went with him. Everything was left at me feet to pick up and piece together. Hell, some of the missing pieces I had to find. In the meantime, I am on the side of this reluctant road, trying to find stability with a scattered mind, and anxiety and depression as my suitcases. I am trying to unload them, or figure out a comfortable way to carry them, and I’m getting there. But I have a long way to go. I know. I know. Patience.
I texted my bestie yesterday, spilling out all of this to her. I texted “Yeah, I do tend to make decisions and then back out of them. Especially since Peter died. But it’s all part of my process, I guess. Maybe it all how I grieve. And I can’t beat myself up. It’s not like I’m loosing millions or am hurting anything.” And her response was beautiful and simple and what I needed to hear…read. She texted back, “It’s okay to be you.” I know! It’s why I love her so much.
And it is okay to be me, the me I am right now. I’ve never been here before. Of course my now will be full of mistakes and victories and trial and errors. In the meantime, until I find a way to trust my gut without the intrusions of Grief and embracing my scattered mind, I have to accept what I am right now, whatever that is right now. Because you know, what I have been and continue to be has helped me survive, and survive well, these past seven and half months. As far as decision, I’ll keep rolling with them, even if people don’t agree or I back out. And it’ll be okay. I think. Do you mind if I get back to you on that?