The book is done. It’s out of my hands for the next three weeks. Then, the editing comes. It should be time to relax, get back into the swing of things at work, but there’s something not quite right.
Tag: anxiety
“Have you noticed your mental health improve at all since you left Facebook?” Sandra asked. I nodded my head in agreement. In between shoveling bites of food in our faces she admitted that it seemed to help her mental health as well by spending less time on the platform. It’s a task that has taken me nearly a year to accomplish.
I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I don’t usually sit and reflect on an entire year. If something needs to be changed in my life, I take measures to make that happen when it occurs. This past year, however, was different.
September through December are difficult times for me personally. The end of October and beginning of November are the worst. For thirty-four years, I’ve kept the demons at bay by ignoring them, but they are always close by, pushing for relevance in my life. One year ago, I began to confront them. One by one, they are having less relevance in my life and I am moving a little bit forward each day to find the better me.
Carter Canyon WMA.
The last two weeks have been incredibly difficult to get through. As with any trauma work, there will be good and bad times, progress and setbacks. This past week was one of the more difficult ones, but three friends stepped up to help keep me on track and to be that inner voice of rationality when my own inner voice could not. To them, I am eternally grateful.
As for where I go next, it has to be spending more time offline doing what I love (reading, writing, being in nature) and less online, even though I know that means losing touch with people.
The phone rings, echoing throughout the dining room. “Ugh,” Paul and I say in unison. I feel myself tense up. My heart begins beating in my throat. I close my eyes and try to will the most menacing machine in my house to stop ringing.
“Do I have to get that?” Paul says before the answering machine picks up.
“I can’t talk to anyone right now,” I reply. We decide to let it go. We’ll call back later.
As an introvert, talking to anyone on the telephone is difficult. Yet, I have a landline and a cell phone. I hate them with every fiber of my being.
Deep breath.
This is not an easy post for me to make or write, but there are some things people need to know. This past year has been a huge struggle, bigger than anyone will probably ever know.
A good friend of mine recently told me my shift in writing here has turned extremely personal. That is due, in part, to finally taking care of my mental health issues with a professional instead of doing it on my own.
By working on these issues, it has become harder to mask my inner turmoil. People at work ask if I’m okay. I’m not, but I am, and I will be. That’s the important part.
Not our plane, but another United plane being pulled somewhere. It’s probably broken, too.
Paul and I arrived at the Hong Kong airport three hours ahead of time for our flight home. We waited forty-five minutes for the United check-in desk to open to get our boarding passes. For whatever reason, the self-serve kiosks were not working. The last fifteen minutes of our wait I tried to calm myself.
One by one, United employees came out to their desks, but didn’t open. Logically, I know there is plenty of time to get the passes, pass through security and get to our gate, but my heart rate is already increasing. I bow my head and stare at my shoes, tracing the lines that make up the shoe’s design. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths to calm myself.
The deep breaths don’t really calm me. They are a distraction to keep me from screaming. I really only start to feel better when Paul says, “Okay, now I’m starting to get annoyed.”