I am trying to learn how to cope with stress. You'd think that after 54-1/2 years on this earth I'd be better at it.
But sometimes it seems like the stress just gets worse each year, that my efforts to cope can never catch up to it.
I just wanted to say that it's not true that God never sends us more than we can handle. I can't handle everything that is pressing down on me -- health problems, family problems, unemployment, money problems, all the burgeoning evil and greed in the world -- it's all way, way more than I can handle.
All I can find to do to make the pain bearable sometimes is to curl up in a ball with the covers over my head and breathe.
I used to like to go for walks, but ever since the assault, I'm afraid whenever I go outside, especially if there is anything going on to remind me of the assault (e.g. a group of kids walking together nearby, being at a mall or shopping center, seeing someone who looks like my attacker, hearing loud or boisterous talking, etc.)
My trust level with human beings is dwindling down to nothing. After my traumatic stress counselor started getting flaky and canceling appointments at the last minute, I find it almost impossible to contemplate asking anyone for help. When I did work up the courage to schedule an appointment with a new counselor, he cancelled at the last minute, too. Part of me knows that this is just a coincidence, but a larger part of me seized on this as another reason to never leave my apartment, to never try to get help, to never trust another soul to treat me with basic human compassion and respect.
I almost feel like there is some kind of sick, cosmic joke in play and I am the punch-line. Why do I even try to fight it if the universe is stacked against me? If I'll be smacked down again every time I try to get better? If I'll be metaphorically slapped every time I reach out?
But then I look at my neat rows of BG test after BG test, insulin injection after insulin injection, grams of carbs calculated, synthroid, vitamin D and omeprazol taken on schedule, my log of application after application being sent out for jobs, my stack of books about diabetes and healthy eating...and I think, "Huh. I guess I'm not ready to give up, after all."
I don't want to give up, but I would really, really, really appreciate it if I could just catch a break. You know? Just a few little, tiny things going my way would be nice. Even one thing working in my life would help me believe that it's worth it, that I'm not just fiddling on the deck of the Titanic.