The Hardest Part

Hello, blank page. My old nemesis.

I'm waiting to discover the outcome of potential developments in my life. I am averse to change but it seems my life has changed continuously since my divorce in September of last year. So I guess I'd best put my head down and not draw any attention to myself. Or put my nose to the grindstone and embrace change in all of its glorious uncertainty.

The problem is, I suck at waiting.

Call me Instant Gratification Girl. I have to be doing something to catalyze change. I want what I want, and I want it now. I have no patience.

I  would like to establish a routine. But I want it to start, like, yesterday.

The bonkers part of me wants to freelance and transcribe and piece my income together, whoop-a-dee-doo! Part of me wants to establish a profession with a set schedule and guaranteed hours, and this pragmatic, OCD side of me is usually the one that prevails.

And then there's the whole Jack-of-all-trades aspect of my personality. Can I do just about anything well? Sure. But am I an expert in one field? Neeeoope. Many people take one look at the stay-at-home mom part of my resume and they are dismissive, despite the fact that I earned a bachelor's degree back in the day.

Have I thought of remedial training? Sure, but each path is fraught with obstacles. Mainly the time and the expense. I cannot even afford physical therapy though it is needed for me to walk without pain. So most programs are financially out of reach. Trying to parent around a retail schedule has already proved difficult. How would I juggle schooling, parenting, and a job?

So here's what I'm planning to do. Spoiler alert: it's nuts. I'm going to start auditioning for community theatre and schedule my jobs and freelancing around THAT. Because I need creativity and performance for my spiritual salvation. Think I'm being melodramatic?

You ain't seen nothing yet.

Paging Dr. Melfi

My anxiety issues are prevalent as of late. Pretty severe ones, forcing me to resign from my new job. I finally had the opportunity to see a therapist.

After nearly an hour of discussing my past hospitalization, struggles with OCD, daily anxieties and experiences with agoraphobia, he suggested something revolutionary: BREATHING EXERCISES. Like I’ve never done THAT before. Oh, silly me, of course! I’ve been holding my breath for the last two years. It’s only the most basic thing you could possibly suggest for someone suffering from anxiety.

So, I did the breathing exercises, frustration growing steadily with each breath. “Don’t you feel better?” He said. “I could tell the difference between before and after you did the breathing exercises.”

Uh-huh. Before I was anxious, now I’m fucking angry.

“Describe your anxiety for me.” Anxiety is a monster, I offered for a basis of comparison. He told me anxiety needs to be my friend.

Friends don’t wake you up in the middle of the night to prod you with your darkest fears. Friends don’t drive you to the brink of losing your mind. Friends don’t let friends write drunk. Friends don’t prevent you from doing things that you would otherwise enjoy. Friends don’t betray you by planting paranoia and delusions in your world-weary brain.

Why can’t I have a decent therapist? I know life isn’t as well scripted as, say, The Sopranos. But I yearn for someone who actually helps me talk through my problems, rather than just watching me cry and saying, “Hmmmmm. You seem upset.”

NO SHIT, SHERLOCK.

Most of the session I felt like he was going to stop and just say, “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” It’s like he thought that just because I was articulate about my anxiety that I somehow wasn’t really suffering from it. He even added, as an extra zinger, that I shouldn’t obsess so much.

IT’S CALLED OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER. LOOK IT UP IN THE DSM SITTING, APPARENTLY UNOPENED, BY THE WINDOW.

I think you’ll be a lot better in two weeks, he said.

I think I’ll be doing a lot better if I see a better therapist.

Deluge: Defining Disability

"I'm getting tired of starting again, somewhere new."

                                                    ~~~ Foo Fighters, "Best of You," In Your Honor, 2005

Anxiety, you have won this time.

I haven't been writing on here because I thought the best way to survive in society was to hide. I deeply regret that decision. I should have learned by now that I can no more hide who and what I am than I can stop breathing.

I washed out of a great gig this morning. The hours were good and it involved customer service. I worked very hard in training, getting up at 3:30 every morning just to get to class. But that old phobia of phones, and the people who could be on the other end of them, won out. I feel grateful for the opportunity and it seemed like a great company to work for. I also feel that I was a waste of this company's time and resources because I just couldn't hack it. 

So I pretty much feel like crawling under a rock and never coming out.

Signing releases will be my primary business this week. Releases to prove what I always feared was giving up: that I am disabled by my illnesses. But I recognize that I need to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else. And I know when to ask for help. Going back to counseling as well, hopefully, sooner rather than later. It seems as though since my divorce I haven't stopped to process my emotions or breathe. It also turns out that psychologically, such repression isn't healthy.

Also, recently stopped dating someone who I (gasp) liked. Apparently, I wasn't allowed to have feelings. Of course, there is a lot more to the story than that. But some songs are better left unsung. 

Started a new blog as well, on the entertainment front. Thought that I could get into the habit of reviewing films, television, and books again. My jobs have left me little time or energy for creativity. 

How I wish one didn't require a day job. ***Sighs wistfully before screaming into a pillow***

Square one in so many ways. And so very tired.