Tipping Point: the moment of critical mass, the threshold, the boiling point
- Malcolm Gladwell
Any small mistake or strong emotional response to going to send me into a weeping spell, a panic attack, or both.
I reached the tipping point this morning – nothing happened necessarliy, I woke up with it.
What’s it called when you reach the critical mass when filling something with liquid and if you look super close you can see it almost bubbling over? The point where you know that adding any additional liquid will cause a spill? Science!
Luckily, I’m going to see the Perks of Being a Wallflower movie tomorrow morning, so likely my weep explosion should happen there – alone in a dark theater…like a lady.
About a month ago, Simon discussed with me his end of life wishes, (e.g. no life support, no extraordinary measures, etc.) and his wishes for how Betsy should survive without him. In the true spirit of our family, our conversation was half-joking, but he essentially was bestowing leadership of the family onto me. I’m the plug puller.
Then, at his bonne chance dinner last week, Simon again (jokingly) began to express these wishes, which made everyone uncomfortable, especially Betsy, so I swooped in, made some jokes, and proclaimed that he had already discussed these things and that I’m in charge.
Do I want to reassign leadership responsibilities to another family member? Absolutely not. But, in a way, sustaining the strong leadership role from hereon out feels too big when I don’t have anyone with whom I can express real vulnerability. I am, and will be, alone.
Between this feeling and – waiting for my background check to clear for the new job; the creeping depressive feelings; and the new medication acclimation period – I don’t want to do it anymore.
I hate myself for allowing these small to medium sized issues become something with weight. I hate that the weight has settled in my throat and chest. I hate that I can feel it physically but am actively rejecting it emotionally.
This is whining. I know. I’m sorry. Everyone’s life is hard, much harder than mine. None of this is new territory. I need to just deal with everything.
But really, I just want someone to show up at my apartment and say “Let us take you to a farm where you can run and play until the end of your days, like you’re an old dog.”
To which I would respond, “yes, please.”
On a different, yet related note, here are two videos that almost made me shed a single tear tonight: