I used to write. Constantly. I used to write in notebooks, on printer paper, in journals, everywhere. I wrote poems, I wrote stories, I wrote essays that looked a lot like my blog posts. I wrote all the time. It was such an integral part of me.
And then…it slowed down. More and more, over the years, it came to be less a part of my routine. So, in 2008, I started this blog. And for a time, it got me back into the routine of writing. But over the past eight and a half years, my life has changed so completely that it barely resembles the life I was living in 2008.
And so, over the years, this has become more a space that I come to when I'm working something out. I don't know how I'd have gotten through the miscarriage or my Dad's death without processing it here.
So, I guess the fact that I haven't written much lately, overall, means I haven't had as much to process? I guess that's true. Although the panic attack that has been on and off since the middle of Sunday night says otherwise. Ugh. It's the worst and longest I've had in some time, and it's so frustrating.
So, let's unpack this, shall we?
We just got back from a family vacation to Montana. No one was hospitalized this trip! YAY! It was a ton of fun, but as always, coming back form a trip like that, especially given the time change, requires a re-entry period for everyone involved.
Before I left, the issue I wrote about a couple of years ago that led to my first mammogram re-surfaced, worse than before, and I had to go in for another mammogram and ultra-sound, both scheduled the same day I saw my doctor, which is just always disconcerting. Both are clean, but it'll require some sort of procedure sometime soon.
Not entirely related nor entirely unrelated, my thyroid is for sure acting up. Which a) impacts my general health and b) predisposes me to anxiety and panic. Good times for everyone!
My Mom left Monday for a European vacation. While I'm super excited for her, I can't help but wonder if there is some part of my subconscious that was freaking out over her traveling to Europe at 70 in the summer (on an overnight flight to France, no less - See August 2013 archives for reference). Obviously, I knew it was going to be fine and it was, and she's going to have an amazing time, and it's far beyond well earned. But when you lose one parent, you tend to get paranoid about the other one, in situations that remind you of the first parent. If that even makes sense. She's not him. She's his opposite in so many ways. But I still have to imagine that was part of it. That PTSD…and that shit takes a while to fully settle down.
And then of course, there's work. I was thoroughly exhausted before MT, so it was good to have a break. But I always find returning to work after a vacation daunting. I don't deal well with being absent from work. I don't feel AS guilty this time as I have times in the past, but it's still not the BEST feeling. I can rationalize all I want, but feelings don't always listen.
I had an email conversation with my much mentioned in this space bff, and that always helps. She knows the full extent of my neuroses and loves me anyway. I wouldn't have made it out of elementary school, let alone life's real trials, without her. Sometimes, it helps just to say to her, "Hey, I'm feeling like a nut bag," and have her respond, "Hey, I'm feeling like a nut bag, too!" Sympatico.
Another odd note - I have had conversations with several different people from different parts of my life this week, who have mentioned having a spike in anxiety too. Weird. Not a full moon. Is there some other astronomical/astrological event of which I'm unaware? Hmm.
Anyway, anxiety…beat feet. I got shit to do.
