note: the past couple days I’ve actually started using this blog more for therapy purposes, and just getting stuff out of my head, rather than presenting semi-decently written posts. It’s definitely therapeutic, but a complete mess.
Having a freak out night tonight. Landlord’s coming to fix the toilet on Monday, and because of that I’m obviously going to be evicted and end up on the street and never be able to talk to my boyfriend or mom again. The ‘boy that escalated quickly’ meme is basically the life story of anyone who suffers from anxiety, right?
Anyway, just had a quick thought slash realization that I need to process. The last year and a half, most of my anxiety has revolved around things that cut off my line of communication, especially with my boyfriend. Power goes out because of lightning a few times a couple of years ago, and now thunder & lightning are enough to send me shaking uncontrollably until my body can no longer shake. Shit internet goes out or acts up, and I’m sobbing under the blankets. I’ve also had the normal reactions to situations that throw me for a loop: fear of my truck breaking down or failing safety inspection, misplacing my wallet, driving more than 5 miles away from my house. You know, the typical stuff.
I thought that a lot of it had to do with either losing my fiance, or because my life fell apart after D went back to jail, fear of my life falling apart again.
I think it’s partially those, but I think there is a thread that winds through it all, dating back to my childhood (what a surprise):
There was a lot of time as a child that I didn’t feel secure. I was always a chunky kid, very shy, pretty much socially inept. The one thing I was good at, getting good grades, was never quite good enough for my dad. I told him that I wanted to be a doctor one day, and he dissuaded me from it because I would have to go to an expensive school, and also he didn’t think I could handle the “gore” of it. I was a pretty good kid. Never really got in trouble at school, wasn’t a troublemaker with the few friends I had. And despite that, when I was maybe 14 he told me if I ever came home drunk or pregnant he’d kick me out of the house. I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 19.
Immediately after that, I moved in with D, and Lord knows there was absolutely no security in the 6 years I lived with him. He was dating good Mormon girls, and coming home and sleeping with me, all the while lying to his PO about it. He had trouble the entire time he was on parole. He never recommitted, but walked the line, tippy-toed over it when he felt like he could get away with it. I married him instead of going to school, so didn’t have any hope of getting a decent job, especially during the recession. I lived in fear every single day of the six years I lived with him. If I wasn’t worried about a cop knocking on my door, I was worried about what I would do if (when) he got caught. He romanticized his high school sweetheart, and played the what if game a lot when it came to her. I was a depressed mess, and in his head she was a perfect model of what a wife was meant to be, and so I didn’t even really have the security that he loved me.
After I left him, I spent a few months at home with my mom, then decided to move to California for a rebound that lasted 2 years too long. He had a temper, degraded me, and since I lived in a house his mother owned, and also worked for her, if we broke up, I would be stuck in the middle of a huge city with nowhere to go.
I’m finally at a good place. I’m working a full-time job that I’m really good at. I got employee of the year last year. People there actually like me, not because I’m someone’s wife or sister or girlfriend, but because I’m Mel, because I have something to offer. I pay all of my bills on time, or mostly on time. I have food in the refrigerator. I have a vehicle that may be old, but is dependable and has low mileage. Insurance. I can afford weekly therapy, and medication to help with my anxiety. A fiance that loves me for who I am, who treats me with respect, who allows me to be me and to mold myself into the person I want to become, but who has never once made me feel like the person I wake up as, is less than anything he wants to be with. Prospects for an amazing future, a life in New Zealand. And most of all, I feel alive. I feel like my life is finally worth waking up to.
And it’s fucking terrifying. Because it’s all been gone in a flash before. And the security I’ve spent 2 years working my ass off for, sometimes doesn’t feel that secure at all. I don’t know how to just be in the moment, to let it all be, and stop planning for the worst. I was blindsided before, and the fear of that happening again puts me into overdrive, trying to plan for the worst case scenarios, and back up plans, and backup plans to those backup plans. It’s so frustrating that something like the fact that I’m not a Stepford Wife with a perfectly spotless, well decorated house, can push me over the edge into worrying about eviction and homelessness. It’s unlikely, but “what would I do if it happens.”
I feel like such a crazy person, that I let my fear of losing the first real security I have, make me feel insecure.