Constant panic
That’s how I feel lately. There’s an ever growing ball of anxiety resting inside my chest, and it never goes away. Well, I shouldn’t say never. That’s not true. It goes away when I am free. Usually, when I’m alone.
The every day stimulation is too much. There's too much to see, analyse, think about, talk about, feel about. There's too many wrongs to absorb through my glassy eyes, too many thoughts of sadness, too many feelings of empathy.
It's taking a toll on me, to see so many suffer. I avoid the news. I don't read Facebook or anything related to shootings, police, presidents, wars, overseas tragedies. So much pain and loss and nothing to be done about it.
I feel my own hurt of depression sucking the life out of every breath I take. It taints my thoughts with so many doubts, so many worries. I went from dealing with each day — okay, to laying in bed at 4:30 in the morning and wondering if anyone would miss me.
I have no delusions. Or maybe I do? Maybe that's what depression is all about, making me unknowingly delusional.
Is life so bad? I work five days a week, yeah, but only 4 hours a day. That's pathetic, right? That's nothing compared to many people. Nothing compared to who I used to be, clocking in 40+ hours a week and never caring too much.
Well I did, but I never let it bother me.
So I can't even get by working a measly 20 hours a week without my evil shadow making me feel overhwlemed and useless.
And I do.
Especially when I have to tell someone I need to rely on them for awhile, and they recoil at the idea.
A memory rushes back, "I'm not going to help you every day." Yeah, I know. I remember. But why? Had our roles been reversed, I know I never would have said that, let alone insinuate that I might leave at some point.
My foundation is shaky because it's not mine.
I built my life around you, didn't I?
And now that I ask for a change, a desperate change I need, it's as if we're strangers under the same roof.
And life is on hold, no matter the amount of mentions I make to my age, my health, my dreams. They don't coincide, so perhaps they aren't of concern to him.
Maybe he's just scared. Maybe he just doesn't know how to say, "I want to move on." Maybe I don't know how to say it. Maybe I love him so much, I don't want to break his heart.
I'd waste my life for that.
Do you think I don't feel pathetic enough? I denounce everything considered normal in my society. I believe money is harmful. I advocate that every single human being has a right to live.
And I think I'm crazy. I think I'm going to way of the dodo. The way of my grandmother, soaked in her dementia, the way of my mother, devoured by mental illness. I fear so much to lose my mind. The older I get, the more fear creeps in.
What if I am losing it? What if all my ramblings, beliefs and feelings are just the silly ideas of a slowly diminishing mind?
I fear I'll end up alone, sad and empty. No family. No loved ones. I'm already pretty close, really. My only left over family members have nothing to do with me, my mother is completely gone, my only brother won't even speak to me and my so-called cousin (who I used to claim as my sister, we were so close) decides I'm no longer important in her life.
And all of that? I could live with. I have lived with it for years and years.
But then there’s you and all control is lost.
All resolve is lost.
All of my selfish (are they selfish?) desires fall away when I lie with you at night and talk about our deepest beliefs — the ones that make us, us.
And I hate it.
I don't want to depend on you, even though it would be great to know I could.
But to know I can't? Hurts.
I would suffer for you.
I do suffer for you.
I'm getting off track.
I've locked myself inside the bathroom of my work, and cannot come out. My head hurts, my eyes bloodshot, my chest feels full of static. The idea of going out there and facing all of that immediately fuels my anxiety, fuels my fear. My brain is repeating, "I can't do this, I can't do this." And despite how many deep breaths I take, how many times I think "I can do this, this is temporary," it doesn't change my heart from lurching when I go to unlock the stall door.
I have to leave, I know. But the thought of bailing on work is sending surges of panic through my entire body. I feel so stuck, all I can do is cry. Cry like a pathetic idiot, locked inside a bathroom stall.
So what...
What now? Asking myself that makes me feel pain, in so many ways. Because, how well do I know this is not going to last? How well do I understand that these thoughts are not true? How many times do I have to repeat the process before I can effectively ignore these feelings and thoughts, and just return to my usual state of ease?
I've gotten so good at dealing with myself, that now I don't know what to do. This feels like too much to handle, and the more I feel like I'm losing control, the more the panic takes over, crushing me daily.
I wake up every single morning, telling myself to be grateful, to look at what I have, to kiss him good morning, to tell myself — "this is going to be a good day." (See, I don’t even aim for great, just good. I’m not asking for much here.) And even though I do these things, lately they do not work. They do not matter.
I cannot escape my panic.
Alcohol numbs it, I get why people drink all the time. But that’s not me and who I want to be. I regret every drink I take, and every decision to drink. Another fear of mine — becoming an alcoholic, like my sister, mother and grandfather.
So my only reprieve ends up being solitude, sadly. As much as I want to just spit the emotions out at someone, and share my pain, the concept doesn't seem to be found in the people I know. So I'm forced to stuff it. Stuff it, stuff it, stuff it, until there's so much going on inside that I can no longer sort it out myself. At least, I have not been able to find a way.
A lack of understanding leads to a lack of empathy.
Why do I feel like I can never be loved as much as I love? Is it me, or my delusions? Am I just not feeling it, even though it's there? Am I missing some sort of link from my level of emotion and understanding? Am I already past the crazy mark?
It's been hard these last few days living in silence, living in fear. The build up is becoming too great, and I don't know how much more I can stand, every day.
It's just me, really. I don't have family, or kids of my own. I have a wishy washy relationship with an uncertain man. I have no friendships. I just have my kitty, who would be just fine without me.
So I keep thinking, why keep trying to live a life I can't tolerate anymore? Why not just change it? Why continue doing the same crap?
Isn't that the definition of insanity? Repeating the same thing, expecting different results?
Guess I'm insane. Guess we all are.
And now as I sit in the arroyo under the freeway, gazing out into the distance of driving vehicles, feeling a tug at my insides every time I look up from my phone.
Where do I go now?
This all feels so unreal…
