The Fantasies of an Indecisive Woman...

Every little girl sits in their room, wearing a sheet on their head, envisioning a daring rescue is only moments away from ensuing from that very moment in time. She sits and waits, and wait and waits. As the sun begins to dip below the redwood-studded tree-lined hills, her doubts begin to waver. She slides the sheet of her little blonde head and sighs, hugs her doll extra tight that night, and stains her pillow with her tears. Each tear, a gentle relinquishing of the fantasy; each gasp of air, a stubborn surrender to the terrible reality of life: prince charming does not exist.

I came in and out of relationships in, incredulous, unhealthy ways; diving into the pot- smoke-filled realms of dark teenage rooms to screaming fits of rage and panic and writhing on high school sidewalks. I've done it all, short of killing someone.

I met my husband on a late May afternoon, after stealing a break away from helping a friend working toward graduation. Said friend and I decided to venture to Guerneville to see what the action held for us. Riding in his mom's new Toyota (or maybe it was a Honda?) sedan, enjoying this brief moment of freedom between us. We rode into town, but the only mission on my mind was to track down my loser-of-a-boyfriend and attempt to turn him straight by my mere presence. We parked at the Pedestrian Bridge and walked down to the "Creeble Spot" and there he was. Playing a guitar that sported a fucking Brittany Spears sticker, playing something, was my future husband and father to my children. Not many women envision meeting their partner in such circumstances, and I certainly imagined they would be much more romantic, but none of my previous relationships started off any better, so why improve now?

This retrospect makes my heart twist and turn in my chest. I feel like I'm losing sight of my marriage, or maybe my love for my husband. He has many good qualities about him, but sometimes I feel like he's still a child and I've been footed with the bill of re-raising him. It takes a strong woman with passion, intelligence and, most importantly, love, to handle a task such as this. And sometimes I feel like I don't want it anymore; I don't want this task, it's too much and it shouldn't have ever been mine in the first place. Then there's other times where I'd gladly do what is asked of me, obey the law of nature (mother gives birth, wife then raises), and take my place in line behind the other wives to receive our daily penance of personal denial.

I am very lost in the fog of my marriage. We no longer see eye-to-eye on many things and are constantly burning energy trying to get the other to see the err of their ways. We're missing the point entirely, but unwilling to take the first step towards walking the path together. Will we ever walk that path together?

There's still so much hurt, so much distrust, so much blocking our love for each other. Kinda hard to see through the fog, but I know the sun is shining above it all and perhaps one day, we'll be able to see it, together.

If not in my house...

...then in whom's house does Anxiety live? You know what? I could really give a shit where that bitch lives; she doesn't live with ME anymore.

Even though, as humans, we're encouraged to not deny the feelings inside of us or the events arounds us and so on. However, there is a fine line between denial and self-fulfilling. It is my opinion that even though I admitted that I had a problem with anxiety/agoraphobia, somewhere down the line I also CONVINCED myself that I was suffering from these ailments and acted accordingly. I didn't act like my usual self, taking on the world like Wonder Woman. No, instead I believed every single symptom of these ailments and made them my own, changing myself into this cowering little girl who was incapable of doing anything on her own.

I'm sitting in a comfy chair situated on the Fourth Floor of the Library at the SRJC, looking down onto Santa Rosa, up here with the fluttering birds and realizing how small and insignificant I am when contrasted with the bigger picture of things. My world became so small and I was suffocating myself.

I'm no longer doing this to myself. I no longer react to a situation, catering to the anxious reactions I may have. I no longer accept anything less that being able to live and live comfortably in my mind and in my home with the family I love more than anything in the world. I'm never going to throw that away, so don't dare ask me to. I am back and in control.

"P" for Persevere

There was absolutely no reason today for me to be feeling anxious, and yet there it was. Took quite a bit of breathing and affirmations to calm myself down, and my day hadn't even really started yet. I keeping thinking and thinking and planning and thinking, never letting my fucking brain to have any rest; no slow moments. And today's little attack came from a moment of fast-paced thinking and no real trigger of any sort. Yet there it was, making itself known to me at any opportunity.

I keep wondering to myself how much longer can I go on like this? I feel like I need to RUN or Kick-box myself into a state that is no longer anxious: what is it that I fear? Death? Why should I fear death? When I think about it, I'm not scared, making the anxiety attacks seem pretty pointless. Either way, there's a part of me, an imprisoned part, that's sitting inside me screaming at me, telling me to get over it, that I'm strong and there's NO REASON to be feeling this way! Gosh!!! I feel like I'm on the cusp of breaking this anxiety, and yet it keeps reaching me and dragging me back in.

What DID trigger me, however, was thinking about how LONG my day is. We wake at 7am, leave at 8am, get home a 6pm. That's 10 hours of being at school, out of my "zone." Ha! It IS my zone: it's my JOB to go to school, to learn, to become a successful businesswoman and take charge of the world. Right? Right???? So friggin' WHAT if my day is that long! I'm having fun! Dancing, having a great time in Business Class, developing my art and photographic eye, visiting with friends, enjoying some time to myself. What the fuck? Enjoy it, damnit! The cares of the world are too large for me to handle, with or without anxiety, AND it's not my responsibility.

I am an incredibly strong woman that deserves to move freely in the world without feeling like a prisoner of my mind. I am the one who carries the key to my cell, I'm the architect of the prison, I'm the one holding the dynamite that's going to blow it up. So why am I hesitating pushing the button???

Persistance

When I read this passage this morning, I thought directly of the events of yesterday. It was the first day of Spring Semester, and I was already pretty nervous. But I made it through each class, and through each challenge, too. Our vehicle decided to have a malfunctioning thermostat, rendering us stranded 15 miles from school; but with the help of a friend, we were able to get there. The next biggest challenge was handling the stress and anxiety after a fight with the husband. I didn't used to get so emotional and pushed so close to the edge before, but as I reflected on yesterday's fight and my emotions, I realized just how addicted I am to conflicts and high-stress situations. Not to say that I, in general, purposefully created the fight, but I certainly didn't help stop it, and my actions helped fuel the fire that was ignited between us. So as I walked Santa Rosa Avenue with daughter in tow, searching for my husband who walked off just as we were to board the bus home, and all I could manage to do was to chant over and over "I'm going to be ok; I'm going to be ok." The urge to "lose it" was so prevalent in those 20 minutes of walking the strip, the only thought that was a guarantee for tears to flow was "I AM going to be like this the rest of my life!" But, hidden in the undercurrent of my personality, lies a girl who's VERY stubborn and not subject to defeat. All the while I'm doubting my ability to recover from this event, this girl's voice sang loud and clear, "Don't associate Santa Rosa, buses, or sunsets with this event. Everything is fine: it's just a fight. You two will work it out, your ego will mend, you are going to be fine. Be strong for your little girl. It will not be this way ALL semester; this isn't a sign from God to stop school." So needless to say, this little girl was right: we worked things out, came back together and got home safe and sound, albeit a bit traumatized. But I refused to allow it to continue in my head. We then decided to go for a family walk into town; let the poor pups stretch their legs and get some fresh air, and to go pick up the Monster Boy. We had a wonderful walk, with the fullmoon blasting it's beautiful, white light on us, blessing our family with its energy. As we walked the streets of downtown Guerneville, I purposefully exhaled each negative thought and feeling out of my body and inhaled the images of animal books in windows, the laughs of my children as they frolicked down the sidewalk, and the exchange of an unspoken love when running into a good friend. We made it home in one piece, and Jesse and I worked together on the car, trying to get it running again. Although we failed in that respect, we enjoyed each other's company and were able to forgive one another and move on.

A thought came to me yesterday after all was said and done. Let's say, for example, you have a cold because you are having the traditional symptoms of a cold. Does admitting you have a cold make it happen or if you denied having a cold, will the symptoms cease? Same with cancer or a genetic disorder. I think the latter two have a bit more exception merely because nobody WANTS to have those ailments, unless they're a hypochondriac. I applied this same school of thought to my anxiety and supposed "agoraphobia." When I first read about agoraphobia, my anxiety got worse, because I saw just how much work I had to do in order to be somewhat "normal" again. By acknowledging that I suffered from agoraphobia, did I inadvertently convince myself that there was something wrong with me and something that justified my unnecessary fears? The other side of the coin is by not admitting I am dealing with a phobia, am I denying my full potential to overcome it entirely? This thought crossed my mind a few months back, and since then, I have labeled myself an agoraphobe. Today, I've decided, I am no longer suffering from such an ailment if I chose not to, so why bother putting the label on myself? I fight the symptoms of agoraphobia everyday and have been successful everytime, and in fact lived my life anxiety-free for quite some time. I am not an agoraphobe because I DO leave my comfort zone on a daily basis, I do fine when my "safe-person" leaves my zone, and I can handle the stress in my life through relaxation and meditation. The twinge of anxiety continues to linger, but I've also refused to allow that to take over my life: I am strong and persistent enough to overcome this. And that's exactly what I'm doing.

Anxiety is...

not knowing what's coming up the path ahead of you

not trusting life

not loving your home

not trusting your loved ones

not loving yourself

not feeling like you belong anywhere

not believing in yourself or that things will be ok

not seeing that there's a less than 1% chance of something horrific happening to you

not believing you can get through the horrific if it ever does happen

not slowing down

not saying no when you NEED to

not trusting in your own ability

not trusting your lifemate

not seeing beyond the fog

not in charge of me

not going to take over my life

not going to win

not a guest in my home...

Before and with God, but without God

"My Lord, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so." - Thomas Merton

I read this today in "The Mermaid Chair" and I found it so profound and comparable to what I'm experiencing. This morning, the anxiety tried to place it's stamp on the day, making its presence known every waking minute. In the past 4 months, I've learned that I have these "muscles" of thought in my mind and for most my life, I've been flexing them in the direction of surrendering to panic and negativity. Since the beginning of my recovery, I've been learning how to retrain these "muscles" to flex off the negative thoughts and feelings and literally swipe it away like the droplets of dew from the fog to a window.

The beginnings of the day are usually greeted with "what if?" and "I hope." These phrases don't help anything, but in fact are my muscles flexing into a negative, anxious state of mind. So today, I'm going to start off with the following affirmations:

"I CAN handle my anxious state of being today."

"This TOO will pass."

"Progress not perfection."

"Anxiety is grounded in emotions, not reality. Remember this when thinking with your heart."

"I am not in a dangerous place with dangerous people. I am safe and am capable of handling myself."

Perhaps much of what fuels anxiety is acknowledging it's even there in the first place! Sometimes my symptoms would get worse when I'd share with others how anxious I was feeling; maybe because I was telling myself I'm anxious and that I'm not stable and am unpredictable. Hmmm....food for thought, today.

Who told you you were allowed to Rain on my Parade?

Today, I left a window open and Anxiety started seeping through. I've often thought that everything I went through, not being able to leave the house and my marriage almost falling apart, was the Universe's way of telling me to slow down. So of course, I do slow down (mainly because I have NO CHOICE!), but as soon as I start to feel better, I go right back to the same bad habit of trying to save the damn world.

The stress of trying to juggle the numerous projects I've signed myself up for have culminated in a Level 6 Anxiety Alarm of which too a LOT of breathing and relaxation to wind down from. The negative self-talk becomes very strong when that happens; I start telling myself I'm going to be this way forever, and I start imagining myself losing it, ending up in a hospital, the WHOLE nine yards. All the while I kept wondering, "why is this happening again?" I took a moment, and thought hard:

family

school

newsletter (work)

website (work)

area guide (work)

history walk

community garden

book

column

car issues

finding a new house

keeping my marriage together

counseling

...Hah, I've got a case of the "can't say no's." Hah....so, obviously there are some things that just CAN'T be disposed of. Well, the book is practically done, so I can cross that off the list. Counseling is a must and really should fall into the personal health category...and it's really the only thing on that list that is me taking care of me. Finding a new house is ALWAYS stressful, but honestly if my landlord told us that they weren't going to sell the house, I'd still be looking for a new house (or would I?). Community Garden....ha! It would fall onto my shoulders and I'm not prepared for that, and I don't think I ever will be. School is a must, on so many levels, but am I putting to much of a workload on myself? I won't know until I'm there, now will I? Family is constant, and will never change; so long as I maintain our rituals, I can remain close with them; and marriage is obvious. Work is a WHOLE other story...I really wish I wasn't the only one who knew how to email things or maintain the online Calendar or other tasks that are becoming too daunting and overwhelming. That won't happen unless a new, computer-oriented person is hired.

No wonder I have such anxiety. I measure my self-worth based on how many projects I can have going at the same time; the more I had, the more respect and attention I feel I deserve. I'm beginning to see how fallible this concept is and what it is doing to me, inside and out. I have this need to "save the world" but never think once that I CAN save the world by giving myself and my family the attention and energy that I waste on these other projects. It's self-serving and self-gratifying to successfully pull off projects; I have the biggest project of them all, and they're waiting for me to read them their stories in their beds.