A little story

Here is the story of what happens when my life seems to be coming together.

I was getting close to going back to work when all of a sudden I broke-down. Everything was fine. I was even a bit surprised that I felt okay with going back to work.  My perspective was that I would go back to work, do that crappy job that kills my soul, but not be so worked up about it because I had a back-up plan to get out. I would continue to work on me, work on my business plan, and go to work so that I can continue to get paid and get health care benefits. It would be good for me to start being around people on a daily basis again and preoccupy myself busy work. So I thought.

Then the next day I had that familiar huge pressure on my chest. Anxiety was hitting me hard. Then the thoughts came, “Am I doing the right thing? What if I break-down at work? Am I well enough? What if  my back-up plan isn’t really what I should be doing? What the hell is my purpose here anyway? What if I never figure it out and I end up on the streets?” and so on and so on.

I called my therapist and she suggested that I do more research on unemployment benefits (in case I get fired), and disability (which I applied for back in March) because it sounded like I didn’t have enough information to make a decision about going back to work. Okay, good. Concrete steps toward action, no pressure to make a decision yet.

Before doing that though I had to go to the bank. That’s when it happened. An old scenario that left me feeling so raw and broken. Without going into the details, I was going back and forth between banks due to their misinformation about how certain things work. I felt so overwhelmed, I stood there with my eyes welling up with tears. I slowly turned away from the bank teller and walked to my car where I sat and cried. I cried like someone close to me had just died. I drove home, washed off the day’s make-up, put on my robe and proceeded to cry for several hours curled up on the couch.

In this moment, I gave up. I was tired of working on getting better and ending up “here”. I was tired of feeling better, becoming hopeful and then falling into depression and anxiety – AGAIN. I pulled out my journal and spilled out my guts writing about how this feeling of death just won’t let me go. She (for some reason death is a “she”) comes back into my life just as things are coming together. “Isn’t that cute” she says “you thought you could get well and move on without me. Well just in case you forgot, I’m not going anywhere sweetheart. You belong to me.”

When the tears were wrung out of me I sat up and felt as hallow as empty shell. No desires, no ideas, and no inspiration came to me. I was spent.

The next day I awoke with anxiety coursing through me as I tossed and turned in my bed. I had no more clarity on what I wanted than the day before. I wanted to sleep the day away until I had an answer. I was still emotionally fragile as I got ready for my therapy appointment. Then my friend Brad called. I hadn’t spoken with him in months and it was so amazingly comforting to talk with him again. He reminded me that I don’t need to do anything and that I keep putting this pressure on me every month. This gave me enough to begin to understand what was going on.

In the end, after my talk with Brad and my therapy session, I realized that I need more time to heal, and if I can, I need more time away from work. It scares the hell out of me, because my fear is that I will end up unemployed, uninsured, and homeless. This does not sit with me well.

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