Dear anxious me,
Hey there lady it’s been awhile, just kidding, it’s been like what 2 seconds since we talked.
I know you are a little anxious about money. That’s life. We all get this way. Trying to make ends meet on barely one income with 3 kids is tough. But you’ve got this. I know you are worried something is wrong with social security, did you report wrong? Did it stop for some reason? Did he do something somehow? Did they take it to pay debts? Can they? All excellent questions but sort of getting in the way of what you are doing now. Don’t y’a think? Oh right, that’s all you do I forgot!
Try to relax and breath. I know you hate it when I say this, you complain it gets in the way of not relaxing and not breathing. Deal. With. It. Even if something is wrong you will figure it out. There is always a way through, around, under and over. You’ve done it. Don’t want to relax, walk. Be alone with yourself for a few hours tomorrow morning and chat it out. Is that your plan? Good plan. Good call some would say. You are worried about your grandma and her lilac bush she wants. She is behaving oddly. She buys dolls and doesn’t remember. She is almost 100 years old. Give her some flexibility on the memory.
Your dad is acting wonky. You are worried he is drinking more than he does. Dad isn’t a drinker. Just occasionally. What in his mind is bugging him he doesn’t want to think about? Dad is a thinker why now doesn’t he want to be? Is it close? Is he going to die soon and he knows? His thoughts are turning to the end. How does he know? Do some people? Why would he risk drinking and damaging his liver? Doesn’t he think he has more time? He will die I know but is it soon? What if he does? What will i do? What will happen to him? Where will he go? He can’t die, I’m not ready.
Taxes. Don’t, even, get me started!!!
I would like to point out to you that a calming sugar scrub is anything but. It is like washing with sandpaper that smells like lavender and supposedly orchids. It actually smells to me like plastic. Like when you open Tupperware brand new for the first time. How do they make plastic smell? Why would it? Can they scent it? Like they do soaps and shampoos. Why would they? How do they make the strawberry shortcake dolls smell so good? I actually bought it because it says it helps under privileged women. And it said calming. And it was purple. I thought I needed to exfoliate. I have been kind of itchy. So I either exfoliated or irritated? But not calmed.
I was told to write to myself. Not just myself but to my anxiety feelings.
Maybe even name it, like my daughter does her blankie. Make it a person so I can properly address it and deal with it. Maybe it will be Pheather with a silent P. See, even a smart phone knows this is not a word, it’s underlined in red, stupid smart phones. But then I can imagine it could be said as feather and all the things can float away after I write them down. Maybe.
I read in a book that said maybe anxious people never felt comforted and safe, we didn’t learn how to self sooth. That’s likely true since the last time I bet I felt safe was in my mommas tummy. I screamed a lot as a baby and small toddler. My parents didn’t seem to be able to sooth me. I was unsoothable. The more they did the more I cried. Did they give up? Did I? Did I just give into the fear very early. Everything terrified me so I let it and just decided early on that’s who I was. I will be afraid and never sleep. Done.
I created monsters under my bed. I became someone who thought under the bed was a place that lurked danger. Not monsters because my brain wouldn’t let it be make believe. They were people under my bed. It was even worse when my dog dying of dog cancer slept under there and made noises or bumped the bed. I would stuff things under the bed and even once just removed the boards and let the mattress touch the floor. Then forcing me to need the door cracked open and the hall light left on.
My fear just moved. I locked and unlocked doors and windows. Sometimes I would panic I turned it too many times and it didn’t lock. My dad put in a chain and it was a relief to hear it jingle. Sometimes when I was home at night I used to think I could see the door knobs turn slowly. Once when I was an adult, (was an adult?)that happened and no one could find anyone. Making me believe it never did. Making me feel crazy. But I know it happened.
I was once tortured by a story called the borrowers. Little people who lived in the walls and borrowed things. It still has me concerned. I still look under my bed. I still check locks, I still watch the door knob. I wish it was monsters or make believe things. To me they are real. Live. People. I would jump to safety as long as I got out far enough that arms couldn’t reach, slicing my achylies tendon, crippling me for life. When I became a driver I was this way with vehicles. Someone was under it. Always. I like my car now because it doesn’t seem to be able to house a full grown person under it, I’ve “repaired” my exhaust I barely fit and no way could attack someone at the squashed angle I was.
When I’m in the woods I panic even more. What’s funny about this is I intentionally am doing it. What’s even funnier,I love the woods. I am trying to feel close to something big to show me something big. Bigger than me and all the big life around me so when something big happens I feel ok to let it be too big. Let go. Big life=hard and sometimes sad. Which is ok. Everything is running smoothly as soon as I find this big huge feeling of trusting the universe. But it continues to let me down. Unless I’m in the woods. Which frightens the fuck out me at night. Actually all the time. Even though I love the woods. I repeat. When I lay to sleep I lay there and actually think of a side I want my back to face, which is silly because you are totally vulnerable all around. At home I don’t like to have my back to a door. Or a wall. Or a window. I’m too vulnerable, like peeing behind the tree, it’s not behind it’s just on the other side. One side always exposed. I have to be prepared for the attack that is coming or did and now I’m just sometimes waiting. Wouldn’t someone know I could hear them for miles walking to come and sneak up on me? Leaves crunching. At night a leaf stepped on by an ant is magnified to sound like a full grown human. What if they were hiding there first? Why would they be? Maybe I pick the one spot an escape convict is taking cover? I look around my camp sites for signs of escape murderers anywhere. Even before I check for tree issues overhead, you know, the more likely cause for concern. I’m trying to force myself to be a back sleeper so I can be totally prepared to fight back. Why can’t I be? Why do we have so much trouble with a side we sleep on? Does it go back to crib days? If so I didn’t sleep so I should have no trouble training a side or back sleep position. I have a significant back arch and kind of messed up tail bone from a ladder accident. So it can present a problem in my mind but as a side sleeper when I actually sleep my hips hurt. So why wouldn’t I correct this in my sleep? Because I can’t self sooth? I feel like all I do is sooth myself. Scraped knees, stuck cars, broken down, broken toes, broken, sore throats, long days, long miles, many bruises, lost babies…all on my own. I think I can self sooth like a bad ass. What I can’t do is feel safe from others. What is that called? Others sooth? Themselves sooth? People sooth? Does it become an action? People soothing? What about trust? Is it trust? Don’t I have to trust myself first to trust others? Trust this big universe? I must keep looking, under everything.
Best regards,
Me, to you, from me. The real me. Always curious and less anxious.
P.s. love the best regards signature
P.s.s. Kudos on the effort to try and make us suffer but I win today.
Piss. off.
Aspenleaf 