anxiety, part 2.

Well, this weekend was rough–the end of October is rough. Yesterday would have been my father’s birthday; 64 years old. Last year around this time, I was totally unaffected; I can’t even remember what I did or who I was with but I don’t think that it hit me as much as this year did.

Friday afternoon–I was busy at work helping with the induction ceremony for the Student Council and National Honors Society. And, we went out with some friends after work. I got home, and my high school friend came over for some wine. I was almost falling asleep, and for some reason thought more wine would help. I don’t drink enough to get completely drunk or plastered anymore–and honestly, I believe that I am in denial of my alcohol intolerance as part of my fibro.

Well, late nights and alcohol are not my thing anymore…and for some reason I wanted them to be. I hung out with my friend, but of course I thought I was my old self—pre fibro. This has been the hardest adjustment for me; I want to be the person that I have always been. Fun, happy, and just not having to plan everything out–I just can’t relax and have fun. I have to dial things back, and I am holding on so, so tight.

Saturday night my mom had my aunt, uncle, and cousins over for my brother’s birthday. I held off drinking until after dinner, and didn’t get so wasted…but my anxiety kicked up that was for sure. I said before my anxiety is like knocking on a door, think “The Raven.” Rapping, tapping, and finally just being coming surrounded.

My anxiety tells me that I am not good enough–my anxiety convinces me that everything I do is never enough, never good enough, and people don’t actually like me for who I am. This is really deep seeded for me–when I was in grade school I had a friend that treated me like dirt. I have since been able to forgive that friend, but I still have the aftershocks of what that kind of treatment and behavior has done to me.

When she and I were friends, everything I did seemed to make her angry at me–there was something I would do, and she would stop talking to me. She was manipulative and nasty, because 7th grade girls are nasty. However, this has so been ingrained in my and effected the way that I deal with friends and relationships–that I need to be constantly convince that what I am doing is right. Because, I am afraid and deep down believe that I am not enough in my friend’s eyes.

I judge my friends a lot on the words that they say to make, and take everything pretty personally. This is something that I have done to family, friend, and sometimes in the classroom (if I am being one hundred percent honest with myself). Well, I think this weekend I hit my rock bottom. I missed my dad, I felt like my friends didn’t want to be around me–and I just had a mini-breakdown.

Sunday. I did something totally our of character for myself, and that was lay in bed almost all day. I was worn out from crying, I was tried from not sleeping, not taking care of myself. I needed a break. Thankfully, I didn’t have much to do. I laid, and I slept a little, and I just relaxed. I realized that I had to get up and do something in order to feel like a real person. So, I painted my nails and stretched.

I blame myself for all the bad stuff, when I feel negative, but I always look to someone else to take that blame away. I look for a reason, or something to heave all this heavy shit off of me. Because this isn’t who I am (I tell myself)! I am better that this (I say, not believing a single word)! It is so easy for me to get wrapped up in the bad shit, that I totally forget all the good that I have. I forget how good my friends are to me. I forget how good my family is to me, and how much people love me.

I truly hate feeling this way at times, because I feel so broken and little. I don’t like showing my cracks or faults, because it makes me feel like that is another reason for people to stop being friends with me–like they are my friends because I try to be strong and there for everyone, that when I buckle or stumble…people aren’t going to be there for me. Which I know isn’t true.

It was good, though; because it got all this emotional shit that I have been sitting on out. It isn’t the worst thing in the word to realize, but I know that I am tired of this problem that I have effect my relationships–I want to be able to enjoy my friends and family. I want to be able to not take everything personally, to realize when people are joking with me, and I want to be able to feel confident in who I am.

I am totally done with second guessing the things that I say and do. I am totally done with not making myself feel important, and apologizing for who I am. I am totally done in not believing in myself.

I have to be okay with not being okay sometimes. I have to ask for help when I need it, and I have to stop trying to be perfect all the time. But it’s okay!

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Anxiety

Anxiety.

I remember when I first started dealing with it; I was in grade school. 7th grade to be exact. Whether it was the joys of becoming a woman, or it was something that I always had inside of me I’m not sure. But, I thought about losing my grandparents, a lot. My father’s parents were older than all my other friend’s grandparents. When I was in grade school, my grandparents were already starting in their eighties.

I wasn’t obsessive, but I thought about it enough to keep me up. Then my anxiety blossomed into something that kept me awake at night. I would think that someone was breaking in, I would rationalize to myself how this wasn’t true. And, I would be lost in this abyss of what ifs and could this happen. It consumed a lot of my nights, and then it started coming during the day.

The thing about anxiety is that is doesn’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t be worried about, it makes those decisions for you. In my life, a lot of the big things that I had going on I had in control, and it was little shit that I had trouble dealing with; so, if the smallest thing went off the rail…. boom. Hit like a train.

In grade school, anxiety was small but it slowly got bigger. Friends and relationships were a large part of my problem. I was insecure, I was smart, I didn’t really fit in, I was heavier than most of the people in my class. But, these were things that I could deal with; I couldn’t seem to keep friends.

When you have anxiety, I found that it is a lot easier to blame other people and situations because you don’t have the deal with the issue at hand. I think of all the times that I was hurt by someone—and I think that I was genuinely hurt by people that I was friends with.

My best friend in grade school would literally play these mind games with me—she could be mean to me, hurt me, and then I would apologize. Because, in certain cases, she was hurt so I had to apologize. This was a pattern, every so often this would happen, and I would cry. I would let it happen to me. I would be so anxious about this girl not being friends with me and treating me poorly. But, I never stood up for myself.

Once I did, it seemed to set me free. But, I didn’t have friends. I didn’t go out, I felt alone. When I was growing up, I was, as most girls are a sensitive kid. I cared a lot—for other people and mostly about how people saw me. I got caught up in how people saw me and sought out perfection from other places. I thought that my mother didn’t understand me, and to an extent she didn’t.

Part of my huge insecurity deals with not feeling good enough. It seems like no matter what I do, I am always behind the curve. It started with when I was in grade school with my friends, and that still plagues me today. My constant apologizing to my friends in grade school has given me this complex that I am not good enough. Because I have been spinning my wheels. Now, as an adult, I need constant reassurance that I am doing the right thing, and I am doing what is expected of me. How exhausting right?

Well, it totally is. My need for wanting things to be okay, and not wanting to be at fault for things is now getting the point that it is crippling to me. This type of thing holds me back, in my personal growth. As soon as I start making great strides in a certain area of my life, it seems like the other shoe drops and I am back to feeling so small.

Which makes sense that I am like that because when I am hurting the most, when I am hurting myself, and I try to make others feel small as well. And, most of the time I don’t know that I am doing it, because I would never want anyone to feel the way that I do. But, I still do it. And, I usually feel bad that it comes to that.

This is something that I am trying to fix or work on, because this is something that is so deep and so shameful to me—that I portray this strong exterior, but I fear that I am not enough. I constantly fear that I am not good enough for other people, and that goes back on myself.