For the most part, I like to think of myself as a normal, down-to-earth, even "good catch" kinda gal. Okay, so I haven't been caught yet, but maybe I am just too fast (ha).
Anyhoo, despite all my shiny goodness, I suffer from this horrible, gut-wrenching, keep-me-up-at-night, agonizingly painful disease know as "Can't-Mind-My-Own-Business-itis." You may have heard of it, though it usually is found in older, female types, like mother-in-laws, oldest siblings, nosey neighbors, whathaveyou.
I can't say for sure when I contracted it, but I suspect I likely inherited it via the family blood line. Or at least my birth order and being the adult child of an alcoholic (all family members end up adopting roles - mine is the fixer control-freak) seems to be a contributing factor. In any case, CMMOB (for short) is this ebb-and-flow kind of disease where you can have really horrible flare-ups, but then remission for several months, almost like a honeymoon period that can trick you into feeling like you are cured. But without fail, a situation always comes up where you work so hard to keep to yourself, suck down your opinion, let others handle your business until the internal itching and the mental rash just overwhelms you and you end up vomiting your two cents up all other people that really don't need your help.
The medication I have been taking is usually administered twice a week in the form of ALANON meetings (yes, those meetings for family and friends of alcoholics). However, with the test and the holidays, I fell off a bit, stopped taking the medicine, and surprise, surprise - get sicker.
This week's unsuspecting victim? My sister and her fiance. With any new couple who have just bought a house and are planning a wedding, there are a whole lot of problems that come along. The trick is tyring to manage them like adults, each taking turns voicing opinions, empathizing, problem-solving and settling. All this things ultimately, or at least in theory, make the relationships stronger.
Oh, but not with Megan around, and now while her disease is running amuck. No sir-ee. Here I come with my walking wounds, my disease festering from all my pores, the shambles of my own life kicking up dust around me as I try to tell people what I think they should do, how they should do and when. Letting my virus block my respect for their personal space and rights, and infecting their process with my know-it-all beliefs. Man I can be sick. And the worst part? I can actually stand outside myself and watch myself do it, but I can't stop it. Like a bike crash in the Tour de France - you see the pile up ahead, but its so quick you can't react, and instead just brace yourself for the fallout. That's me. Just watching my own self-interests interfere with the lives of others.
I started taking my medicine again this week, but like Prozac, sometimes it take a while to kick in. I am going to take it again tonight, and for as long as I have to if it means making myself better. Being sick doesn't help my family (no matter how much I justify my behavior) and it most certainly does not make me feel good (tossing and turning all night in bed, constructing fake conversations/rationales/justifications in my head, the anxiety and frustration, the tears - no bueno). I don't think I will ever be cured, per se, but at least I can manage the disease a little better, and for my own good. I love my family too much to make them sick too, and I don't want to spend my life in isolation when their immune systems can no longer tolerate my virus.