Anxiety…

“Anxiety is Evil!”

It really is Evil! Anxiety is the worst because it’s in your head but you can’t shut it off! I’ve never been diagnosed with anxiety or depression, I’ve never had therapy of that nature either. I’ve done a lot of self work and a lot of reading/research on my own issues (PTSD) and have done all I could to live my life as best as I could. Now that I’m living in my hometown again it feels like time can fold over onto itself without warning. This can be good and bad. For instance, I’ll turn onto a street and think, “Huh, I’m lost. Where the heck am I?” and then suddenly a memory will come to me and I’ll know exactly where I am. Mind fuck, yo!

18 years ago I left my hometown to escape an abusive relationship. I visited my family from time to time but eventually never looked back, for my own sake. Living just 30 miles south felt like a fresh start. It felt like sanctuary to suddenly be anonymous in a town I’d only heard of the day before I moved there. It became a life saver but more so a chance to actually build the life I wanted. It worked out, I’d say. I did build the life I’d wanted, but I’m not sure I was fully aware of it at the time. Looking back I can see it all laid out. I built a strong support system there. I feel the distance this move has created and it’s extremely difficult to live with that. I’m trying.

All I can do is try. When I wake up everyday since I moved (June 28th was my first night here), I hesitate to get out of bed. “You can try.” is what I tell myself when faced with this obstacle and many more. “You can try.” has become my internal mantra. I try to wake up and not freak out. I try to unpack. I try to eat. I try to stay hydrated and out of the sun (the unforgiving bastard). I try to grocery shop and function like a “normal” person. I try. Everyday anxiety is waiting there for me to not try. Anxiety is tapping my shoulder interrupting every “try” I can muster. Some days, it wins. I hate it.

“It’s Okay to take a Day for You!”

Those days I get little done. I try simple things like eating and hydrating. I fail. I cry. I struggle. I question everything in the universe. I hate myself. I talk to friends and try again and try to love myself and try self care and try and try and try. It’s hot. When it’s over 95 I get sick very easily and try to stay indoors. It’s hard. I’ve never lived alone, ever. Talking with my bf last night I realized that I’ve spent very little time alone at all until I moved in with my roommate 3.5 years ago and even still, it wasn’t until now that I am finally feeling the gravity of what living alone means and feels like. It is hard.

My shining knight in fawn-fur armor.

Anxiety lies to you and whispers the worst things possible into your ear. It has me looking over my shoulder whenever I leave the house. It has me questioning myself, my worth, my choices and my future. It robs me of everything. Anxiety makes simple yet important things, like caring for my puggo, all the more difficult. It takes every ounce of gumption and energy I have in me to simply drive to the grocery store. Once there I am already out of spoons and thus every side-eye, up-down and straight up rudeness penetrates deeper than it normally would. I am not my true self in this state. I see everyone and everything as something out to get me.

I’m lucky as hell and more grateful for all that I have than the English language could express. I love and am loved and my heart is full of so much goodness. Unfortunately, anxiety and memories of all that I thought I had processed and let go of are still there waiting for me here. A street sign, a landmark, a restaurant or tree can trigger a memory I don’t always have the ability to process or handle. I have to be careful with my time or it will get away from me and I’ll have accomplished nothing. Friends are kind and supportive, assuring me that moving is mega stressful and my injuries need to be honored and mitigated for self preservation. I struggle with every tiny thing.

Living alone means every sound is probably real but not having someone to verify except for the puggyman. He’s great, though. He’s settling in just fine and has made himself home in the main house with a new dog friend and my landlord (who hates that word LOL). My living situation is ideal and everyone is so kind. It’s not their fault that I’m broken inside. It’s not my fault, either. I don’t actually think pinning blame is the answer here. Yet I am amazed at how what I survived and left behind has remained fresh in the further reaches of my mind. Thanks PTSD, I’ll be sure to send a fruit basket…NOT!

What happened to me here? I’ve written about my abuse survival many times, but to sum it up for you, I was in an abusive relationship with an older man from the ages of 14-19. Every aspect of my life from what I wore, whom I spoke with and everything in  between was controlled by my abuser. He beat me up nearly everyday for five years. He took everything from me. I escaped, moved 30 miles away, and never looked back. Now, 18 years later, seeing those streets and signs and sights again, it’s all still there. It’s so real and yet, it’s not. He still lives here. I know the street name, but not the address. I don’t want to be tempted to try to find him. I don’t want to see him and don’t know how I would react if faced with him. It’s a shadow I’ve lived in for far too long, perhaps, but didn’t have to deal with where I lived before.

My boyfriend has been the most amazingly supportive person in the world! He’s become a sort of cheerleader for my new/old hometown, taking every opportunity to show me how awesome this place is. I catch glimpses of his view, but only fleeting ones. Everything has dark, ragged edges that threaten to steel my life away again. Wow. I haven’t been able to articulate that until now. Whew. That’s heavy. Shit. *Breathes* That is how it feels. It feels like a black hole trying desperately to suck me back into misery.

I will work through this. I have a great support system. Thank the stars for the internet!!! It will just take a lot of time and patience. I have barely unpacked a thing. Friends tell me they can see I’m making progress; they are too kind. I know it will come together in the end and I’ll be so happy with my little cottage. I have so much to be happy and grateful for, and I am! I just have to figure my shit out somehow. I mostly keep to myself anyway, but more so now than ever, it feels necessary. I will keep trying.

Vulnerably yours,
<3
S

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