My intentions were never to be like this; I did not dream of the day I would grow up and hate people, nor did I wish I’d be a ball full of anxiety worried about what other people may say or think about me. My intentions were never to hurt anyone or to disappoint anyone, but my actions spoke otherwise. My actions disappointed, hurt and angered people; my actions show that I do worry about what people say and think of me.
I suppose my actions reflect my inward self, while my intentions were – are good in theory they are not what I am doing, or being. I allow my pain, the anxiety to cloud my judgement.
Honestly, I could handle the bursts of crying, the sadness, the depression; it makes sense. I have gone through a life changing experience, my dad died way to young. He was plagued with a disease that took more then just his muscles away and I hate that he went through all he went through and, in retrospect, I understand why he wanted to end his life. I’m depressed and hurting because of the disease, his life is important, we need him and this illness took him away from us. His bones creaked and muscles hurt as they died slowly, his lungs fought to expand – making breathing difficult and nearly impossible, he was never able to hold his grandkids or celebrate 25 years of marriage with my mom. I hurt because of these things, not because he died but because he was robbed of life even before his soul left. He never got to teach his car obsessed grandson how to work on cars, or give them piggy back rides, he’ll never be physically here to watch them grow up, to grow old with my mom. My pain is not for myself; yet I am wallowing in it.
I am unable to understand the anxiety. The flashbacks. The dreams. It’s the never-ending doubting, second guessing, worrying and hypothetical ‘what-ifs’ that makes my mind race. My obsessively need to check my phone, email all throughout the day in fears that something may have happened and I missed the call – again. My restless mind that awakens me many times throughout the night to check if my mom is breathing, to try to hear my dogs moving; All of which leaves me exhausted for days afterwards. I do not understand why, why I am unable to relax and rest like a normal person. Why one terrible situation turned me back into the anxious sleep deprived, antisocial person I tried so hard to leave in my past. Anxiety is a part of me; a huge storm cloud that follows me wherever I go and yet I still do not know why I have anxiety, what caused it. I do not know why I went from everyone’s friend to someone who hates everyone, or why I went from a person that loved hugging people to someone who can’t stand being touch. Well, I sort of do. Anxiety happens because of many things apparently, environmental, disasters, loss and so on. I think I realized how scary, how unpredictable life could be when I was 8 and my neighbor, who was nothing but wonderful to us and a friend to my dad, and his son’s were shot at. When someone died on the corner in front of my house because of gun violence, when I watched the cops pull marijuana plants from his house. I think my anxiety multiplied when my grandma died and my dad got sick, and escalated even more when I was molested and no one believed me. But all of this was in the past, so far in the past that it’s nearly ancient history.
But its a part of me.
It has made me scared and distrusting, it’s made it hard for me to open up; to show anyone my true authentic self (I don’t even know who that is though). Anxiety is my worse enemy, yet my closest companion. Its brought along its own demons, own problems and it’s destroyed my perception of the world. My only wish this up coming year is to deal with these demons, to open up to someone and maybe end up falling in love.