It seems as though my stress level rises a little but more each and every day, and with it, it seems as though there’s a bit of sadness that builds, grows and morphs into something much, much bigger.
I don’t know much about how all this started. One day, everything felt fantastic, the next day everything just felt inside out. I’ve made huge strides forward, and yet I feel an awful lot like I’ve gone nowhere.
I’m not making much sense.
I feel like there is so very much potential right now. Everything in me feels so alive, but terrified. Everything feels possible, and yet somehow I’m not moving forward. It doesn’t feel altogether different from letting the eating disorder win, only this time, I’m not sure that there is control - not real control, not an illusion of control either. The real control that I have is this: I need to choose between waiting and doing; I need to move forward or commit to staying still.
Money is tight. Writing can be frustrating; it comes in fits and starts. Cleaning is something that I need to do; the physical chaos of my space is overwhelming and I really can’t handle it anymore. The weather just hasn’t been great and that’s left me inactive, anxious and caught up in my own head.
I feel so trapped there sometimes - in my head, behind the mask that I’ve created, within my skin. The difference now is that I want to get out.
Yes, I’ve had moments within the past couple of days where I’ve felt myself bursting at the seams. In the past, I would simply react; this time, I’ve been thinking it through. When I got stressed out about money and cell phone minutes, I found a solution. When I got stressed out about groceries and not having food, I went ahead and made a huge trip to the grocery store; when I was thinking about areas where we might move, I actually called my mother, knowing that she could help put me in touch with an old family friend.
While that helped tremendously with getting ideas, it brought up a lot of “stuff.” The family friend, well, I’ve often thought of her as the daughter that my mother always wanted; who I would have been more like if only I’d. . . well, lived up to all of my mother’s expectations - expectations that were unreasonable for me, but not for her.
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