So remember how I said I wasn't having health anxiety? Yeah, wow, I miss that. Right now, I don't really know why, I just got an intense surge of "oh my god someday I'm going to be really sick or get in a car accident or have a heart attack" and I don't know what to do to make that feeling go away. My usual poor coping mechanisms won't do. Smoking did nothing, I can't eat because I hit my calorie limit for the day and I want to lose weight, I've been drinking every day since Friday so I really shouldn't do that plus my stomach kind of hurts... So I came here to write. I wish that I was level headed and could write something thoughtful and clever but this is me. Sometimes I am panicky for no reason and I wish I could make it stop and just enjoy life like a normal person and not worry about things utterly out of my control but that's not who I am. At least not right now.
I wanted to write earlier, some fictional scene. I'm giving up on my novel (second half finished project that I've abandoned shortly after getting beyond a couple thousand words), because I just don't have the attention span. I was thinking maybe I should write a collection of short stories like Francesca Lia Block but about what? My life is just a sad blur of the same day over and over again. Nothing ever changes and nothing ever works out. If I could just go outside without being immediately freezing, maybe I would be less pessimistic about life. Right now, though, I'm applying for jobs I'll probably hate to make money for shit I shouldn't have to pay so goddamn much for (basic health care and a car that we were told had full coverage insurance until we actually crashed it as well as a place to live), just so I can have the privilege to stay alive.
What is the point of all this? Love and happiness and fun would be my usual answers. I do have the love of an incredible man and a few friends, that is true. Happiness is defined, for me, by accomplishing things, making a difference, discovery. I haven't been able to achieve any of those goals, trapped within my house for the past thousand months. Fun... Well, there's only so much fun you can have in your home with no money or opportunity to go outside. Tomorrow I was thinking about building a massive blanket fort. That will entertain me for maybe a few hours. I've played all the video games I've wanted to, watched almost every single show that interests me, read several books and won a good deal of board games. Each day it seems I grow exponentially more listless and bored than the one before. Even being a gas station clerk would amuse me at this point. At least for a couple days.
I spend hours just wondering, what is the point of all this? I'll never be able to afford having a child. I doubt I'll be able to afford a house to call my own. Travel is an expense that will likely always remain out of my reach. The general useless distractions like drugs set me into full blown panic. What will it take to shake this off, to feel like my old self again? Sometimes I feel her trying to come out of this wintery shell I've crawled into, only for a brief period, but those moments are fleeting and the sensation is forgotten all too soon.
I am hopeful that when the snow melts, my apathy and disinterest will as well. Given how this winter has been, however, when will that be? April? May? I'm uncertain whether I can suffer another two or three months of this unending blizzard without losing what little sanity I have remaining.
I can't wait for the moment the ground is free of Satan's jizz storm and I can finally stand under the sun and recharge. This happens to me every winter, I know, yet there is nothing that ever banishes the dark feeling of isolation and sadness winter brings to me each year. I used to pity boyfriends who had the displeasure of dating me from December to March for it was as if I would transform into a lesser evolved, constantly irritated version of myself. Many relationships could not survive and once the ground thawed, I was onto the next target.
I am not proud to say that I never went longer than three months without a boyfriend after beginning dating in eighth grade. My fear of being alone, my need to be constantly validated, was too great. The steady interest of others made it easy to hop from one poor infatuated soul to another. Though I loved all of them to some degree, the truth is that often I used them to avoid the gnawing depression and anxiety that has plagued me for the vast majority of my memory.
Occasionally, I wonder how different of a person I would be if I had spent some time learning to love myself without the constant reassurance of others. Would I be more self assured? Less timid, less afraid to speak my mind and go after what I want? Would I not need constant reminders that my worth is not defined by the opinions of others but instead by my opinion of myself?
Perhaps. The past, however, is out of my hands and moving forward I have been making many attempts to rely on myself for love and strength. It is comforting to have the safety net of a healthy marriage but during the long, scary nights where my husband is miles away, the only person who can take care of me is me. In reflecting on the early months of this dreadful season, I do feel that I have made progress. While much of it has been shaky, unsure baby steps, I have been slowly creeping in the right direction nonetheless.
That is what I shall focus on - indeed, what we should all focus on. Not our failings in the present but instead our improvement upon the past. If we all spent more time reminding ourselves of how we've climbed, despite ice covered slopes and unseen pitfalls, perhaps we'd all feel a little more at peace. This practice is surely easier said than done but it will be a goal of mine to remember this and in turn go a little easier on myself when I feel lost and frightened from time to time. Life truly is too short. May as well celebrate revelations with ice cream.