I’ve been staring at a blank writing space for 20 minutes. I have the desire to let the words leave my fingers and grace the screen, but the inside of my brain is swirling and unable to settle on the right subject.
What is it that I need to say? How do I fill in the blanks? I write here, most often, when I am hurting and in pain. Writing is my outlet–one of the most powerful ways I have of expressing myself and saying the things that I, oftentimes, did not even realize until they popped up on the screen.
Today…today was awful.
Today, I can’t say I “woke up” because I don’t think I ever went to sleep. Panic hit me like a train in the night–holding me hostage and forcing me to get up and pace the house. ::Deep Breaths::
Oh, how I longed to reach out for help. But to who?
So, instead, I cried. I walked. I talked myself off the ledge of greater panic. You are NOT dying. It just feels that way! This panic is a visitor. And you know why it is here. You will be okay.
I prayed. Which is still something I am not used to doing. And, to be honest, I don’t do often. But, in my desperation, I lay on the couch and threw some words out there: Oh God…please, please, please help heal my hurting heart. I just can’t take this pain. I just can’t take this anxiety for another second. I am trying so hard to be a better version of myself. To love others and be loved. Please…just help me figure out how to love myself enough….Please.
I took an Ativan in the wee hours of the morning, and passed out for about 30 minutes or so before the alarm clock starting blaring. And so…the day had to begin.
It began, of course, with an awful stomachache–anxiety plus no sleep will almost always create a bad day for me in terms of my darn stomach. This only serves to fuel the anxiety, as I freak out about how I will survive the day at work when I need to dash to the bathroom frequently.
I skip breakfast. I can’t eat. I ate breakfast on Saturday after going out and running 4 miles…but since then, I’ve been struggling to swallow much of anything. I’ve forced down a protein bar or two, made sure to keep drinking water. But the sight and smell of food just turns my stomach.
I head to work. I have one goal: get through this day. Somehow, I manage it. But, it is difficult.
The moment the day is over, I sit in my car. I let the fake smile slide of my face. And I cry.
What can I say? I’ve felt so many emotions over the last few days…sadness, despair, rejection, unworthiness, embarrassment, shame, guilt, worry.
I don’t want things to change. I don’t want to be abandoned. I don’t want to be alone, stumbling through this journey on my own with no one to understand ME. The real me. I don’t want to be seen differently. I don’t want to be that needy, crazy person. I just. want. to. be. ME.
I’m too scared to even really say that aloud. And I also feel kind of bat shit crazy. Like that clingy girl who begs not to be left behind. (PS–that girl was me).
Voicing my feelings–even when they are honest–is so very scary. I have been told, for so long, that my feelings are not okay. They do not feel okay. So when I have the courage, even through sobs, to voice them aloud, and they are wrong–and I know it–I feel…mortified. Scared. Like I want to hide and never really deal with any of it again.
Only, that reality is more frightening–because that reality means I really would be alone, without my ally.
And then what? Because that is what is causing this pain. Realizing that, someday, I will have to know how to do this on my own. That is what is so terrifying.
A Brave Mess 