I find that I get writer’s block when I have too much to say and I’m not sure where to start. But the main thing that has been clogging up my mind these days, which are filled with so much fun and family, is the anxiety I’ve been dealing with for the past month…or two.
I don’t like whiney pants blogs (I do, however, like saying “whiney pants”) and I don’t mean this to be any kind of pity party. But I am also very cognizant of the fact that sometimes my life might seem a little idyllic. And while I do have all of these wonderful things I want to record, I think it feels a little disingenuous to do so without sharing the whole picture. When I started my blog four years ago, it was in the wake of a very rough break up (I did the breaking…harder than one might think). I had lost myself in this relationship and the blog was a way to make sure that didn’t happen again. In the spirit of that honesty, I need to share this little tidbit before I go on to talk about how fantastic my life is and tell you all about the dinner parties, the random visit from an old friend, ice skating with my niece and nephew, skiing with my brother, etc, etc, etc.
Yeah, I get that some of you are probably wondering what I could possibly have to complain about and, truthfully, there isn’t much. But I am human and my life is definitely not perfect. I’ve debated how to record this information on the blog. I’ve started multiple posts describing various incidents or emotional breakdowns. I shared a little bit about the “big break down” but that was during a high point on the roller coaster which I have been riding for the past month or two.
Now I am stable. The roller coaster seems to have ended. I am neither extremely happy and carefree, nor am I stressed out and anxious. I am settling into just being…after a tearful conversation with my doctor and a prescription for a very low dose anti-anxiety medication.
And why have I been so anxious?
I think it started with not getting enough sleep. I have always prided myself on my ability to function on so little sleep, but apparently such is not the case. Throw a little PMS on top. Add a dash of the holidays, a pinch of 8 million people in NYC, a few drops of dating drama, and well, you can see that a recipe for anxiety was in the works.
And how has this anxiety manifested itself…in tears…behind closed doors…where very few people have actually been present to see it. There are only a handful of individuals who had any idea that I’ve been dealing with this. And it’s not that I’ve been intentionally hiding it, but really, who wants to be the center of attention because she can’t stop crying. And in the midst of all of this, I’ve had a million things going on; parties to attend, outings, work, helping other people deal with their drama, Christmas presents to purchase, etc, etc, etc.
But behind all of that I have been worrying. I worry about my job; that I’m not working hard enough, that my managers are going to figure out that I have no idea what I’m doing, that I’ll miss a deadline, or a formatting error, or a number. I worry about dating. I worry that I date too many boys who aren’t Mormon and that the Mormon ones don’t want to date me. I worry that I am not capable of actually loving someone in that way. I worry that I won’t find someone I like enough to want to spend the rest of my life with him. And I worry that there will never be anyone that feels that way about me. I worry that I make out too much and too fast. I worry that I don’t date enough. I worry about getting so caught up in my career that I miss the marriage boat. I worry that I won’t be able to find someone who is both smart and kind. I worry about having to tell someone someday about how much debt I’m in. I worry that I make too much money for some men to want to date me. I worry about not being in therapy. I worry that I about trying to pay for therapy. I worry that I will never be the size I want to be. I worry about my eggs drying up and being an “old” mom; or not being a mom at all. I worry that I will be a mom and will totally mess up my kids. I worry that I won’t be able to stay home with my kids because I won’t be able to afford it. I worry that I won’t want to stay home with my kids. I worry that I share too much with the wrong people and not enough with the right ones. I worry that I’ll never just be happy with how I look. I worry about my brothers and sisters. I worry about my nieces and nephews. I worry about what I’m going to wear. I worry about not being able to fall asleep. I worry about what people think of me. I worry that I don’t show my feelings (the good ones) enough. I’m even worrying a little, right now, about who will read this post and what they will think of me. I worry…I worry…I worry…I worry…
And this worrying has been keeping me from sleeping.
In case you wanted to know what it feels like, just read that paragraph over and over again, and skip sleeping for 24 hours and I think you’ll have an idea. Or you could just take my word for it.
The good news is medication is helping me sleep and sleep is helping me feel like me again…the me that didn’t know what anxiety was before moving to New York. And don’t get me wrong. I love living in New York. But with the extreme highs come extreme lows; opposition in all things; even cities.
And with that, I’m not going to reread this post and just publish it. Because really, I have much more fun things to blog about and I just need to get this out there and be done with it so I can move on (at least here).