(This is very stream of consciousness so have fun chasing my brain around like an over excited chihuahua)
Eventually I will sit down and type out a good long detailed background about myself but until I get to that you will have to cope with getting my story piece by piece. Today’s piece is my two cross country moves, that both happened within 4 months of each other. I moved from Texas to Oregon and then back to Texas.
When I moved to Oregon it was to go to school and live with my aunt and help with her new baby, but also because I was unhappy. Texas wasn’t somewhere I felt happy being in anymore. It felt stale and used up so I decided that I would be happy somewhere else, I didn’t stop to think that maybe I felt stale and used up. I moved, and I was fine for the first few days and then my dad flew back to Texas and everything fell apart. I was having relatively severe anxiety attacks at least once a week and I was isolating myself. I would go to school, work, and then spend time with my baby cousin. That was it. For three-ish months. I talked to a few people at work but I never felt like I wasn’t alone, and that was no one’s fault but my own. People would say to me “Just go talk to somebody” but I couldn’t and it’s hard to understand that if you don’t have social anxiety. People would tell me I was just shy and overreacting but initiating a conversation with someone was like staring down a hundred foot drop with a piece of yarn around my ankle and people were trying to tell me that I would be safe if I jumped. NOPE, I wouldn’t be. I would splat, and die. I would be ground salsa, and I wasn’t just gonna buy chips and move on to the next person. Rationally I knew, I was fully aware that I had on a high class bungee cord and it would be scary but I would live. However, my brain could not reconcile that with this vision of yarn around me. And as much as you want to trust yourself and the rational part of you it’s hard. It was so hard that I moved. Again. I moved home. Well, back to Texas, who knows where home is anymore. Sometimes I look back at oregon and I’m so mad I moved back to Texas. I’m so sad I left that life behind and I’m trying so hard not to look back but rather to make this life in Texas one that makes me want to stay. And it is work, it’s not easy and it’s not quick, it is slow hard work. That’s the problem, the work is so draining and you’re working at not being drained and it just sort of feeds itself. It being anxiety. I can’t stop feeding it because it won’t die if I do that, it will do that thing where any fodder it gets it will make huge and important and feed off of that. For example: I let my anxiety rule me while I was going to school in Oregon and on my last day of classes (Two days before my flight back to TX) someone said “Hi” to me and I turned around and left and had an immobilizing anxiety attack. I starved my anxiety, I didn’t contribute to it I just kind of let it exist and the second somebody fed it it subsisted on that alone. It took this tiny little corn kernel and turned it into a thanksgiving feast. Mountain out of a molehill and such. I realized that ignoring wouldn’t work, no matter how easy that method was.
I’m not better, by any means. Moving did not solve my problems, they just followed me and reared their heads in different ways. I go to school in Texas now but I have still not made any new friendships, I’m friends with people I’ve been friends with for years and there’s nothing wrong with that. I can’t help but wish I had all of these new friends and the fun experiences that every other college freshman is having. But it’s fine, because somedays I look down and there’s a rope around my ankle, and while I might still die from making that jump it’s safer than using yarn. I surround myself with people I adore, I go to the gym, I meditate. But I’m not better and I might not be for awhile, and I don’t apologize for that. I’m tired of just living with my anxiety, I want to deal with it and throw it off that 100 foot drop with nothing attached to it.
I know I’m not alone, and I know it’s strangely comforting to have that knowledge. I know that weird relief that you feel when someone else mentions their crippling mental disorder and you just say “Oh my God, me too” and the you bond over this weird sad thing and as crazy as it seems it makes you feel less crazy. I am not embarrassed that I am such a mess, I own it. I want the world to know that I am at a very low point in my life so when I’m not someone might come across this and see that it really does get better. But don’t get me started on “It gets better” because that’s a whole other post.