Lost in a Fog

Oh, how I sometimes take the simple act of inhaling for granted.

I have been soaring high the last few weeks. I was hell bent on having a fantastic birthday month and so far, I'd been doing good. But it wasn't until a few days ago that I realized I'm always ready for the rug to be pulled out from underneath me. I am always afraid that other shoe dropping. As the saying goes 'What goes Up must go Down.'

I started feeling the descent about a week ago. I started feeling restless, tired, constantly looking over my shoulder wondering the 'What Now?'

Then shit hit the fan.

And really, that's the most frustrating part of it all, I get myself so worked up in the small things that I get myself in a corner with no escape. I do this to myself and it is something I have been doing for so long, that I have yet to find a pattern but you can bet your ass that now I have an idea as to what the problem is, I will keep digging until I figure it out. I am honestly *tired* of being scared.

Because I am scared. I am full of fear and its always there, somewhere underneath the surface and sometimes, I get sucked in. I start drowning in it and I forget how to swim.

I found myself sitting at a cute little bistro, across the table from one of my closest friends a few days ago. I do not remember what she said exactly but I felt how my heart began to race, the heat gathering in the back of my eyes. My palms started to sweat, and there was this heavy static filling my ears. I could hardly articulate what was going on but, bless her heart, my friend picked up on it.

This thing, this buzzing in the back of my head is called Anxiety. And its shaking me, deeply. I never knew there was a word for it... I just knew that from time to time all I could do was be irritable and then I'd lash out in anger.



I found myself doubled over at my desk, tears stinging my eyes as the frustration took over. I wanted to take my computer and chuck it out the window.  I had been listening to music all day but it had gotten to the point that I could no longer make out the words. All I could hear was something akin to the static on an old tv. At my feet, I had my cats trying to get my attention, kneading at my knees, meowing, doing anything to break the wave that had begun to wash over me.  Because, see, once the static stops, all that is left behind is this overwhelming voice of sheer, unadulterated self-loathing.

And when *that* picks up, it is superbly difficult to stop myself from doing stupid things.

That voice had become a stage whisper by the time my  husband texted me.

Me 4:34: *sigh* I'm sorry [I didn't pick you up]. I've been in a shit mood all day.
Me 4:34: I didn't even take my shower.
Him 4:34: I love you too.
Him  4:34:  Why didn't you shower?
Him 4:34 :  What happened?
Me 4:35 : Its irrational, I know.. but I feel anxious... I'm on edge. I just feel super overwhelmed.
Him 4:35: why?
Me 4:35: And I had a good cry earlier.
Him 4:35: What about?
Me 4:36 : If I knew what the problem was, babe, I wouldn't be feeling this way.

The conversation went on like that for another half hour until he dropped this gem on me. '[you're] probably still adjusting to me not being at home every waking moment.'

by this point, that stage whisper had turned to a loud roar, like that of water rushing into my ears.

He got a new job. My schedule changed. He has a trip with the boys where he'll be gone for a good four days. I know it sounds super stupid in retrospect but the fear, that incomprehensible anxiety is still there.  My pattern has been disturbed and most importantly, my rock cannot be there for me as usual. He is my anchor, my safe haven.

The rational part of my brain knows this is good for us. We'll be fine. We'll deal with it and come out stronger like we always do. He'll be at a good park, with good friends and they're all bright men who are not stupid and have gone camping before.

The irrational part of me?

Ho boy... she's full of bullshit. She feeds me images of bear attacks, natural disasters, the boys lost in the wilderness for days and dying. And the biggest kicker? Feeding me crap about how he's just *not going to come home because I'm not worth it.* Which is even more stupid because there is no real reason as to why he'd go out for milk and never come home.

And now that I have found the root problem, I'm dealing with it a little better. I'm starting to walk myself out of the fog that has me shaking.

Except now that I'm starting to see my way out of this, I still have that voice... and that is much, much harder to deal with.  She has me wanting to grab a pin or a letter opener and use my skin as canvas. She has me wanting to go park my ass at a table and shovel food into my mouth and because I know how dangerous that is for me right now, she has clouded my brain to not register the signs I have just started to recognize as normal. That voice has me sucking stick after stick of nicotine to dull the pain because, damn it, I feel raw. It hurts to breathe. I feel like I'm not getting enough air so I keep inhaling over and over to the point where I'm dizzy. My head hurts. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of feeling so out of control and full if impulses that drive me just a little bit crazier.

The guilt is eating me alive because I want to go outside and light another stick. I don't even need the damned nicotine. I just like the flick of the lighter, the spark turning to flame and the smoke. I can imagine my fears rising into the ether and vanishing.

....

Putting pen to paper unravels the mysteries of that fear that lives beneath the surface.  I now need to change my perspective and this is much harder to do.

I suppose that just means I have to make sure the battery is always charged because starting tomorrow, I'm taking Anastasia with me to work. Writing helps me make sense of the noise in my head, but the camera forces me to see things in a different way and god... I like the silence that comes with it.

The Unknown

I have been riding high the last few weeks. I had a bounce in my step, a smile on my face and the world seemed so much brighter.

But I knew that was not going to last.

It never really does, it just happened to be one of the longest spells for a while.

And I am determined to not let the darkness take over again.

Our lives, just like the ever changing world around us, changes constantly. There will be sunny days, hot days, dry days, cold days, rainy days... I just have to keep moving.

For today, though, the anxiety wins for at least a few hours. That's okay. Sometimes, you just have to take a break, let it all out and compose yourself before getting back up again.


A lot of people seem to think that being strong means never being upset, sad or broken.. or just moving on unfazed. The truth is a lot more complicated than that. A strong person knows that it is okay to be weak from time to time. A strong person feels just as much as those around them. A strong person bows their head in anger and frustration and sadness just the same. A strong person knows when to reach out for help when he can't go on alone. A strong person knows that everyone has flaws and weaknesses; being strong does not exempt you from this.

So for the next hour or so I will be content curled up on the couch, crying for a bit with the comfort of my cats around me. I've been riding so high lately that the anxiety of the unknown -- because I am neurotic like that -- has just become too much to bear. I will let it wash over me like crashing waves of the ocean and when I've had my fill of sorrow, I'll get back off that couch and do something worth while.

Because I'm learning that  I am a lot stronger than I give myself credit for.