I did it. I lost my footing. As much as I build myself up, I tear myself down. My nerves get the best of me. I’m an emotional person, a sensitive person, instinctive, and intuitive to a fault. Communication? This is the best I’ve got. I never speak. Well, not never, but rarely. I’m quiet and an observer. I’m vague in my spoken words. And when I’m nervous… when my mind is racing? I have no words. At twenty seven years old I still allow myself to sit in my emotions and be my own worst enemy. I’m scared of everything. EV-ERY-THING. I only recently got over my fear of the dark. I won’t go in the ocean. I’ve never been on a roller-coaster. I cry on planes. I can’t even ride a bike. I’m anxious. I make nervous sounds. I pick at myself…. I’m doing it now, in-between thoughts. Caffeine doesn’t help. I stopped drinking it, it spikes my anxiety to a level that I do not want or miss. I live in a dream world and my thoughts always run away from me. This is good and bad. On one hand, I can often look up to find a huge goofy smile (or smirk) has been planted on my face from the places my mind wandered. But other time… I let irrational fears and emotions sweep me away.
So what’s wrong? What happened? ….Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
Friday, I woke up. Alex picked up Marlowe. I blogged. I went to work. I went to the gym. I went back to work until nine pm. I came home, a friend picked me up, and we went to dinner. Towards the end of dinner, I started receiving texts from my sister-in-law, telling me how much I would have liked the concert she was at, how I should be there, blah blah blah. I happened to be thirty minutes from my home, but only one mile from her. A sign, obviously. Well, no, not really, but it all seemed to fall nicely into place. I thought, why not? It’s not late, a beer and some random band won’t hurt. It didn’t hurt. It was a great time… and probably: top three for one of the easiest, best nights of this year. Sunday? Another great day… and I begin to worry. Yes, I sound crazy, I begin to worry when I’m enjoying too much, too easily. Maybe it’s the idea “when you have everything, you have everything to lose”. I like to live like I have nothing to lose. It’s why I’m so open (read: truthful, honest, not: communicative). But maybe it’s my spanish guilt. The idea that other people have less and I don’t deserve more. I recently read a comment about myself, how obnoxious it is that I am constantly patting myself on the back… I do pat myself on the back quite a bit. No, I’m not a super hero, and there a lot of single moms (and millions of people in general) who have a much, much more difficult life than I have (trust me, I know, I feel guilt about this), but either way, I am a good person and I do a good job taking care of everything in front of me. I am a good mom and a damn good woman, and for the first time in my life, I am certain: I deserve a good pat on the back. But again… as much as I pat myself on the back, or lift myself up, I am the first one to question if I’m doing enough or if I deserve more. This weekend, I’m not sure what happened. I guess everything just caught up with me… but the cool I’ve been living in the past few months… it dissipated, and I was left with my irrational nerves getting the best of me. I can blame it on the super moon, or the fact that I’m worried about a family member (but it’s easier to focus on other things), I can blame it on the amount of snot and tears I’ve been living in from poor Marlowe’s teething… but the truth is… no matter what I try to blame it on, it’s just me. It’s who I am. Like everything else about me, it’s something I’m working on, struggling with, and striving for more balance in. I’m hoping this is the last time I let rationality flee, and fear take over. I’m hoping that in this quick race of finding a better life, with a better me: I don’t lose my footing again.
(photo of my sister-in-law and myself in ridiculous laughter. taken by my brother, Mark, on Friday night.)