Writing what came next for me is not only cathartic, it is also scary, saddening, heartbreaking & challenging. How does one articulate the things I went through? I have, as a writer, been challenged with portraying through words many feelings. What came next for me, though, I had never experienced before or since. And while it was devastating, it was also transformative. It was vital to who I have become. And to create an understanding of just what this truly was is quite a challenge. It is an experience that is extremely weighted, one that must be shared but that is so complex, I wonder if I'll ever truly do it justice with my words. But. I shall try. Because as hard as it was for me, it was the cracking of the shell that must happen before a bird can ever learn to fly.
....
It was a Sunday in May, and I was partaking in my as-of-late usual Sunday tradition of walking through my neighborhood on the phone with my mom, discussing all of the numerous things I had left to do for the day, explaining the overwhelming feeling of pressure wrapped up in the to-do list, sharing the pit in my stomach which was growing every second into something that threatened to take me over completely. I shake my hands hoping that some of the tingling sensation will leave. It doesn't. My lips and tongue-the don't feel so good either, a bit numb. My stomach, yes, that is where the anxiety lives. Then, I look around at the metaphorical piles of things & people & expectations I had surrounded myself with. And even as I looked at the list of things to do, I simultaneously created excuses not to get them done. I had too many papers to grade, too many people ready to tell me I did things wrong, too many accomplishments waited to be achieved, too many expectations put upon me. I was quite frankly at a standstill. Unable to do anything, yet also unable to shake the feeling that if I did nothing everything would just fall apart. I was panicking. It was Sunday. That's what I was supposed to do.
By the time he came home, at approximately 11:00 pm, the monster that had been simmering in my stomach that morning when he left had grown into a fully developed, all encompassing, hard to ignore presence in my apartment. Because it had simply woven itself into the very fabric of my life, it was, of course, the topic of conversation. Of course, by this time, I was well into a particularly vicious game of 'Pretend Everything's OK', a game I played at least once a week (Sundays usually) & had become quite the master at. I began my discussion of stress and anxiety in the usual way I did with others, as though I had it completely under control & was merely analyzing it from afar. It was always the way to begin this game. I was an old pro~always great with words, convincing & analytical, persuasive beyond belief. And those things, those traits I clung to so tightly kept the game going. Apparently, at some point in handing out my dissertation about the things stressing me out & how I NOW knew how to move forward in a better way because I was NOW over the anxiety of it, well, I must have taken a breath or gotten distracted for a split second (continuous talking talking talking also helps in this game), because there was for a moment a space. And in that space, he said, 'Don't you think it's getting to be too much?' I of course played dumb....because you know, everything's ok, so what could he be referring to anyway???....He then looked at me, seriously, and said, 'We talk about your stress or your anxiety everyday...or at least most days.' I knew he added the last part to make it kinder, to hurt me less, because I am sure he could see what had just happened in my eyes.
That one statement had ended the game. It was the one thing that someone could say that would challenge me enough to admit, no, everything's not ok. And I did...to an extent. I just went silent & started to really worry about what was wrong with me, about how far I'd let it get, about what all of my trying had brought me, about the truth of where and who I was.
I went to work the next day and where normally the everyday, swing-of-things took over & made life feel good and ok again, I found myself unable to shake it. Life didn't just kick back into it's Monday swing where I realized all the Sunday stress and anxiety were for nothing. Nope. That day I knew they were not nothing. So what do you do when you realize the jig is up? That you are now going to have to face some real truths about yourself & your life? Well, you freak out is what you do. You panic. You blame other things. You send emails to the love of your life (who's been there for only 3 months at this point...which means it'll surely freak him out) saying, 'maybe the problem is with us', which is ridiculous because deep down you know damn well the problem is YOU. You act like a kid being dragged out of the toy store. Yes, metaphorically, I spent my day at work kicking and screaming about where I was being dragged to.
Then, after pretending to work for the day, I went home and decided that yes, there was a problem and it was all mine. Again, once you accept that fact, what do you do? There is no manual given out when you leave college entitled 'One Day You'll Realize This All Was A Sham & You'll Have To Start All Over & It Will Hurt Like Hell, But Here's The Steps To Get You Through It'. So, you do whatever comes to you. You call your mom and ask for help. You admit that this is bigger than you. You accept that this might even be bigger than all those things you blamed. You take a look at all the cracks in yourself and realize you've been holding everything together with sheer will. You accept that will may not get you through this. You get in a car & go home. Home home. With your mom & dad. Where you continue to try & hold it together. Where you catch yourself starting to play the game again because there are new players in the room.
But then it's Tuesday. And seriously, it's just too hard. And then it happens. You let up on the pressure & the cracks start to show & soon enough, you just crumble.
You cry. You sob. You look at your parents with pleading eyes, asking them to tell you it'll get better even though every bit of yourself believes it can only get worse. You seriously and utterly believe you'll never feel ok again. You cocoon yourself into a blanket on your parents couch, emerging only when told you must to eat a few bites or go for a walk, even if you can only make it just two houses away before feeling like you'll fall to the ground. You hurt. That's all you just hurt right down to your core. You have no idea why. You just feel all that awful stuff you never let yourself feel. And you start to wonder if this, this world you're in now, is what you're life will be. Saying over and over out loud, "I just don't want to feel like this anymore.'
It's awful. I can say that much. And you do this for 5 days. 5 agonizing and painful days of despair and torture. Of pure worry and helplessness and....surrender.
And through the hurt, you ask anyone you can for help. And you get it. You get help. Small bits of things to hold onto. But none of it can really help just yet. Because the only way out is through. You have to go through it. So no matter what anyone says or advice they give or comfort they provide, they cannot take it away. I must pass through this. Then, those bits will help. But first, I must pay my dues.
And it hurt. It hurt more than any heartbreak. It hurt more than any broken bones. It hurt more than any words thrown my way. It was the heartache of hurting myself, of putting other things other people before me, of letting the supposed-to's tell me what to do. It was my gift to myself- a torturous, horribly difficult gift, wrapped in layers of fallacy. But it was a gift. I had to first unwrap my past if I ever wanted to move forward. That's not to say I needed to go through each layer & analyze it. No, I simply needed to peel it all away. I needed to see the true gift below all of the sorrow and hurt and pressure. The realization of what a gift this life really is. The understanding that I am allowed to make it what I want, not what I think it's expected to be. Yes all of this and so much more was at the core of this gift, however, it was indeed not revealed until later. Until I did the work & made it through. So, without any other options, stripped of all I was, laying truly in despair, not knowing if I'd ever make it to a place where I didn't feel this way, I started slowly, after 5 days of helplessness, I attempted to try & make it through.
And I repeat: it hurt. A LOT.
