Anxiety On My Mind: On Associative Regression, Healing and Going to Georgia
Tomorrow, I’m leaving to Georgia to go see my brother graduate from Army boot camp. After the ceremony, he needs to head to the airport directly to where he is being stationed based on his orders. I’ve never been to Georgia, and although I’m only spending less than 24 hours in Atlanta, I’m looking forward to learning something new and taking in the culture and history.
After that, I’ll be heading to NYC for a week to take advantage of $100 difference in flight and paid time off I have wracked up at work, while staying with my wonderful relative in NJ.
For the past couple of days, my anxiety has been through the roof. As I ran errands for things needed before the trip and while packing my bags, my anxiety reached a point where I could no longer hide it. My hands shook uncontrollably. My mother would be talking to me, and I couldn’t hear a word she said no matter how many times she repeated herself. I could no longer focus on any of my tasks.
It wasn’t until this morning that I identified it with associative regression. When certain people or actions are done, or when you’re in a specific environment from your past that has reminded you of certain events that have affected you, you revert to that feeling you had from those specific triggers. It’s just like visiting your childhood home and remember certain memories and feelings and thoughts of happiness. You then can feel like a kid again. With the act of preparation for my trip, all the anxiety I had before my trip in December, and the emotions I felt throughout it came back. It was something I didn’t think I would feel again. And now, it is something that is getting in the way of my work, my conversations with people, my daily activities for the last two days. I’m reaching a tipping point where I would have a complete nervous breakdown.
The thing about having High Functioning Anxiety Disorder, as well as suffering multiple episodes of PTSD, is those two combined can put you back into a dark place you’ve tried so hard to escape. And for the last five months, I’ve tried to escape that. I fought my dysthymia when it told me to give up and stay down. I fought my darkness that pulled me towards death and nothingness. I fought the voices that told me that me being around wouldn’t make a difference to others. The struggle of finding happiness, and keeping it, in the things that bring me joy is a losing battle. Lately, and more often, I’ve been associating small unimportant things to the things I love, resulting in tainting it for me.
Aside of my December trip, one other thing made me feel like I now can’t even get on a plane to go to New York.
Yesterday night, I found out that my (ex) best friend Ashley was in New York for the last few days with a man that is having an affair with her. Why does this bother me, you say? Because for the last few months I’ve been trying to find my inner peace and closure with the fact that I have lost my best friend of 8 years over self-righteousness, narcissism, naïveté, sociopathy, and pure selfishness. Without getting into details, I came back from my trip to London and Italy more heartbroken than when I left, and spent the next two and a half months turning my image to look like one of the monsters from Where The Wild Things Are. Depression hit hard, and it wasn’t until last month that I started to feel like myself again.
I got my closure. I found my peace, and I finally was able to let go knowing I will possibly never be friends again with Ashley. But God and Life were playing spin the bottle, and Life won. So Life decided to find a way to put me in the middle of Ashley’s problems yet again.
And now, I know she was in New York. My safe place. My sanctuary. My one place that I can escape to. All I can think of is how I’m going to walk on Fifth Avenue knowing she walked into Tiffany’s for her Audrey Hepburn moment. I’m going to get to Central Park knowing “this is the spot where she did her video with Jordan”. I can see them. Vividly. They are so clear. And I don’t want her to be there.
My strongest demons within are almost always the people I loved who have hurt me. My struggle is finding people I can trust. I am always nice and kind, but to let down my wall and pour my heart out is something that doesn’t happen easily. Ashley was the first friend in my life I was comfortable saying “I love you” first to, and was comfortable holding her hand. She tore down a wall. And now, it’s sky high. Never ending. It’s also why I’m probably not having much luck with dating. I want to love, but I’m scared as fuck.
As I write this, I’m trying to keep my anxiety in control. I can feel the constant inner battle going at it to see who would win: the calm or the storm. But here’s my proud moment: I’m fighting. I’m not letting it take control like it did in January when I came back. I’m knocking out and sucker punching every fucking wave of unsettling emotions coming my way. It’s hard. It’s so hard.
But
I’m fighting.
So here’s to being stronger today than when I was 5 months ago. Here’s to not staying in bed, and doing my makeup even if it’s just simply eyeliner. Here’s to smiling in pictures, even today, especially today. Here’s to still getting myself to pack my bag, even though I should be sleeping right now, but I packed it. And here’s to writing and posting my first entry in months. I’ve been so scared to write. So scared to put my words down on paper. Here’s to letting this anxiety make me do something good for myself. And here’s to playing Georgia On My Mind as I write this.
Most of all, here’s to every fucking badass mofo out there battling the constant fight of depression, anxiety, PTSD, bipolar disorder, and every other mental illness there is and still being a functioning human being in society. You’re all the real MVPs. You’re all the reason why the human race still has compassion and hope for surviving.
I’ll be back soon. I promise.
