Tangible Proof: An Anxiety Poem (*NEW*)

Tangible Proof: An Anxiety Poem

"It will be okay.  Everything will be fine."
How the fuck do you know?
You can't see how this ends any more than I can
So your empty words mean nothing
As I spiral down
Down
Down
Kicking and screaming into the darkness
Twisting tighter and tighter to the brink of explosion
One single point of focus
The answer I need
Somewhere out of reach, beyond the dark.

Trapped in a room with no doors
Or windows
I frantically search the walls with my fingers, seeking any little crack
Through which a tiny breath of air
A tiny hint of secondhand proof
Might trickle into the desperate cyclone of my mind
And buy me a few precious seconds of respite
Before it consumes me completely.

But even if I find that crack
And catch my breath for just a second
The effect is temporary, fleeting
And the swirling vortex quickly swallows me again
Desperately seeking the only true solution
The ultimate resolution
Because anxiety requires tangible proof to stop.

(Note: This poem was inspired by a truism that I stumbled upon in conversation with a friend, which ended up being the last line of the poem.  I wrote most of this back in September, when my anxiety got really bad.  Things have been much better since then, but the unfinished draft was driving me nuts just sitting there for 3 months, lol, so I decided to go ahead and finish it.  I'm not totally satisfied with how it turned out - it feels clunky to me, like I can tell it was written at two different times.  Maybe I'll come back and tweak it next time my anxiety flares up.  For now, at least it's finished!)

Musings: On New Years

 New Years has always been my favorite holiday.  I've always loved the feeling of a new beginning, a clean slate, where no matter what happened the previous year, anything and everything is possible.  There have been a couple of exceptions, when I've had a really good year (2012 and 2015, I'm looking at you), and I didn't want the year to end, because the new year couldn't possibly measure up (and in both cases, that was absolutely correct), but for the most part, I look forward to New Years every year.

Until this year.  It's December 27th, and I am having extremely mixed feelings about New Years.  2022 has been a generally craptacular year, but it's had some really important positive moments, too.  For the past couple of days, I've been trying to sort through these emotions I'm having about New Years, and this morning, I stumbled across a facebook memory that made things a little more clear.  This is from 6 years ago, December 27, 2016.

2016 was a really horrible year, especially for my anxiety.  It did not let up until the very, very end, when the clock struck midnight, and the year was finally over.  I remember getting angry when people would say the year was "almost over" in those last couple of weeks, because the way that year was going, it was "almost over" at 11:59 pm on December 31st, and not one minute sooner.  I feel like a lot of people learned that lesson that year (which was validating to me, as I'd learned it YEARS before, and felt like people were always dismissive of my "paranoia" - but "it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you"!).  But what struck me about that post today was something different: the difference between 2016 and 2022.

2022 hasn't been great for my anxiety either.  But 2016 was PREDICTABLE.  In 2016, the anxiety was so prevalent, and so constant, that I knew beyond any doubt that I needed that year to END.  There was NO part of me that wanted it to keep going, because it was consistently doing the same thing over and over.  2022, on the other hand, while there's been a lot of bad stuff, and a lot of anxiety-heavy days/weeks, hasn't had quite as consistent a pattern.  Despite all the crap, I've been on this crazy journey of self-discovery this year.  I'm learning so much about myself, understanding myself better, and connecting with amazing new friends who really GET me.  I'm returning to parts of myself that have been buried for SO long, parts that were once integral to my identity, and are becoming so again.  I don't want that to end (and I know logically that a new year doesn't mean abandoning everything from the previous year and starting from scratch, but the symbolism of a new beginning is SO strong for me that it kind of feels like that).

Also, 2022 feels unfinished to me.  There are a lot of loose ends that won't be tied up by the end of the year, and I don't like non-ending endings.  Again, there's no logical reason why a new year would necessarily mean that those threads would be cut and never be able to be tied up in the future, but the symbolism of New Years is SO deeply rooted in my psyche that it does feel that way to some extent, and that makes me uncomfortable and a little anxious.  I'm not ready to cut those threads.

I also feel like I'm going into 2023 completely blind.  Some years, I have a strong gut feeling that it will be a good year (2012 and 2015, I'm looking at you again), and when I do, I'm always right.  Some years, I have a gut feeling that it'll be a bad year (2016 and years that end in 9, I'm looking at you), and when I do, I'm always right.  Most years, I don't have a gut feeling at all, and this is one of those years.  If I really focus, I can sense a generally positive feeling about 2023 WAY deep down...but it's very quiet and subtle, and it's not strong enough for me to trust it, because if I have to look that hard for it, it feels forced, and not like a true gut feeling.  There's so much that could be amazing about 2023.  And there's also so much that could be a complete disaster, worse than 2022, 2016, or any one of those years ending in 9.  It could go either way, or both at the same time (or neither, I guess, I don't know).  I just feel like I have no idea what 2023 is going to do, and that leaves me feeling unsettled and a little anxious.

Only time will tell what 2023 will bring.  But in the meantime, my feelings about 2022 coming to an end and 2023 beginning will remain a mixed bag.

September 11, 2001

 September 11, 2001

Bright blue sky
Sun shining
Golden silence

CRASH!
Shattered silence
Shattered lives
Shattered hopes
Shattered dreams
Shattered.

The Aftermath
Gray
Smoke
Screams
Debris everywhere
Dust fills the air
No room to breathe
A city stifled
A nation stifled
Freedom stifled
Snuffed out by the flaming ash
The foundations
Of a nation
Shaken to the core

(*Note: I wrote this poem at 10:35 pm on September 11, 2001.  I was two weeks into my freshman year of college, my first time away from home.  Thousands of miles away, worrying about friends and family members in NY and DC.  This event absolutely shaped my generation, as we ventured through the cusp of adulthood in its immediate aftermath.  I feel like this poem is one of my better ones, especially considering that I was only 17 when I wrote it.  Today feels like the right day to share it.)

Musings: On Love (In All Its Forms), or A Letter To My 16-Year-Old Self

It has been 7 years this week since my pilgrimage to my own personal Mecca: the Baseball Hall of Fame.  But not just the Hall of Fame itself.  I was there for one thing, and one thing only.  My favorite player's induction ceremony.  Whenever I tell people about it, they're all like, "oh, that's awesome!"  Other baseball fans say things like, "I really want to go there one day!" or "I went in X year(s)!"  All of that is great, but...it's really missing the point of what this trip actually was for me.

Baseball was my first real passion in life.  It was a part of my life since I was too young to remember, but I really came back to it when I was 12, on my own terms.  It was never "just a game" to me.  It was so, SO much more.  And my favorite player?  That was my first experience with love.  It's not romantic love, or even platonic love...it's its own version of love that I haven't come across a label for.  And because of that, people generally don't get it.  I learned a long time ago not to try to talk to people about it, because I got ridiculed and dismissed so many times.  People are quick to minimize things they don't understand.  My favorite little philosopher, Linus Van Pelt (from Peanuts), once said, "There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin."  Everyone has their own "Great Pumpkin", and this is mine.  But despite what everyone tried to tell me...everything I felt was valid, and it was REAL.  Love is love is love, no matter what it looks like, or if you understand it.  It just IS.

So, to my 16-year-old self, who really struggled with the constant invalidation of the most important thing in her life...and for anyone else who might be similarly struggling, at any age...this is for you.

Dear 16-year-old Tara,

I see you.  I see you feeling all of these HUGE feelings, and feeling like you don't know where it's safe to express them.  I see you trying to compare and fit this into the schema that society has created for what you KNOW in your core that this is.  I see you hiding.  I see you minimizing yourself.  I see you feeling trapped, like no one understands, like there's nowhere for it to go.  I see you.

I know it's hard.  It will keep being hard, and it will even get harder at times.  This passion, this love that you feel, it will break you.  It will cause you to lose yourself completely, and it will take YEARS to start finding yourself again.  But it's worth it.  It's worth every second, because it is REAL. It is valid.  YOU are valid.  Don't let anyone (or everyone) tell you otherwise.  You deserve better.  And someday, you will find your people.  People who, even if their own experiences are slightly different, really do GET it, and will support you and encourage you and love you for it.

Your experience is 100% valid.  Just because it doesn't look like what everyone thinks love is supposed to look like doesn't mean they're right and you're wrong.  It is REAL.  You KNOW it's real, in that place deep inside that drives you and makes you YOU.  You can feel it there already, and you know what it is.  You are valid.  It is real.  It is love.

I know right now it feels like a bad thing.  To feel so much, so strongly, and to feel like nobody will ever understand.  I know you wish you could be "normal", and you so badly need just one person who will see you and hear you and KNOW this part of who you are.  Someday, you will realize (and somewhere deep inside, you already know this)...it's a GOOD thing.  It's what makes you YOU.  You care, and love, and FEEL this on a level that most people will never experience.  It's deep, and it's true, and it's REAL.  This is your gift.  Hold onto it, nurture it, even when the world tries to break it.  To break YOU.  Don't let them.  You KNOW who you are.  It's okay.  It's valid.  It's real.  And it's GOOD.  Stay good.  Stay YOU.  I love you.

Love,
38-year-old Tara

My Life as a Weird Extended Metaphor (*NEW*)

My Life as a Weird Extended Metaphor

Me: It's been almost two and a half years stuck in this long, dark tunnel of pandemic parenting, and for the last six months or so, I've had to watch everyone else move on while I'm still stuck.  I'm so exhausted and burnt out.  THROW ME A FRICKIN' BONE, HERE.

The Universe: Oh, you mean this bone? *holds up the exact bone I would choose if I could pick one myself*

Me: OMG, yes, PLEASE, that's perfect!  

The Universe: Okay.  I guess you can have it.  Soon.  But first, you have to figure out how to get it.

Me: Okay, yes, I will do that. *spends weeks figuring, reconciling, deciding, planning, etc.*

Me: Okay, I've got it all figured out!  Finally!

The Universe: Great.  Come with me, we're going on a little field trip.  Consider it a preview.

Me: Okay!  Yes!

*The Universe takes me to the dog park, dangles the bone in front of me, then throws it into the fenced area, where all the other dogs immediately pounce on it and start happily playing with it.  We sit and watch them for a little while.*

Me: Awwww, this is awesome!  Look how happy they all are!  And that bone is so sparkly and perfect!  

The Universe: Yeah, it's pretty great, huh?  Okay, I think we're done here.

*The Universe takes me back home.*

Me: That was amazing!  I'm so excited for my turn to play with the bone!

The Universe: ...

Me: ...what?

The Universe: Hahahahaha...I was totally just kidding.  NOPE.  No turn for you.  LMAO! 

Me: ...

Me: Well, that tracks.  Welcome to my life.

*I crawl sadly back into my crate, turn around a few times, then lie down and curl up to wait for the end of this long, dark tunnel...which I have to get to eventually, right?...and dream about the other dogs playing happily with the bone.*

THE END

(Note: This is the first new piece of writing I've done that's not a poem, but also isn't musings.  I'm not sure how to categorize it, but it's how the format presented itself in my mind, so that's how I wrote it.  This is a metaphorical version of the real sequence of events in my life recently.)

Musings: On "Go Mode"

In 2015, I went to John Smoltz's Hall of Fame induction ceremony.  I was 6 months pregnant, and we drove all the way from Atlanta to upstate New York, and sat outside in the late July heat the whole time.  I had been waiting/planning for that moment for more than half my life, and I wouldn't have missed it for ANYTHING.  From the minute I found out it was happening, I was SO excited, thrilled, GIDDY with anticipation.  I had a running countdown for MONTHS.  It was the culmination of so many years of passion...and also a re-awakening of sorts, after that part of me was broken six years earlier.  It was SO emotional for me.  The anticipation and buildup was INTENSE.  I cried a lot, both happy and sad tears.  But mostly I was just so grateful to actually realize this dream I'd had for so long.

Then...we got there.  And I. Felt. NOTHING.  The entire weekend.  It was like I was just going through the motions of doing whatever was next on the agenda.  It felt like I missed out on what should have been one of the best days of my life.  And the emotion never showed up.  Even after we got home, and I had time to process everything that we did, I never FELT what I knew I should have felt.

This is what I've come to call "Go Mode".  When I'm put in a situation that evokes a Big Emotional Reaction, the anticipation and buildup is when I lose my shit.  I feel ALL THE FEELINGS in the days, weeks, months leading up to whatever it is.  And then when I get there...that part of me shuts itself off, and the part of me that is functional and productive takes over.  It's a coping/defense mechanism that I've had for years.  I had just never seen it happen in a positive context before.  It's the same thing that happens when I have to do something that triggers my anxiety.  It's helpful in those situations, because I can actually Do The Thing without having a panic attack or a total emotional breakdown in the moment.  All of those things happen during the anticipation period instead.

Last night, my friend and I watched the season 4 finale of The Magicians.  This is a spoiler-free zone, but all I'll say is that this is a DEEPLY emotional episode, and when it first aired, it caused a massive rift in the fandom, and the effects of it are still ongoing three years later.  It's BIG.  The first two times I watched it, I got really sad/mildly depressed.  The third time, I got SUUUUUUUPER rage-y.  I wasn't sure what to expect this time.  I've had a LOT going on at once this week (and next week, for that matter), and I've sort of been all over the place emotionally.  I had a whole plan in place for what I would do after we watched to help me regulate myself back to some kind of stability.  I was worrying and anticipating it for DAYS.  So we finally watched...and I. Felt. NOTHING.  Sure, I ugly cried (snot and all), and sobbed so hard I hyperventilated DURING the episode.  But as soon as it was over, I was...totally fine.  No big sads, no rage, nothing.  At first I was super confused.  This had never happened before.  I tried to figure out what the heck was going on, but I still didn't really know.  Then, this morning, it clicked.  I was in Go Mode.  I got SO worked up about it ahead of time that when it came time to actually watch it, my body kicked into Go Mode, and I didn't even realize it.  I'm not happy about this development.  I'd rather FEEL something.  I'd rather be sad.  I'd even rather be rage-y (well...maybe not that).  I'd rather not feel like I'm missing out and experiencing my life as an observer rather than a participant.

The problem with Go Mode is that I'm not in control of it.  It activates by itself (it's not a conscious decision), and I don't know how to turn it off.  So when it happens, it happens, and there's nothing I can do about it.  I'm really worried that it's going to happen again next week, when I have something really exciting and special coming up (I'll probably write more about that after it happens).  I don't WANT to miss these things!  I don't WANT to be an observer in these moments.  I want to FEEL it, deep in my soul.  I want to feel ALL of it.  Because that's who I am.  I feel things to the core of my being, in ways that most people don't understand.  I just want to be that version of me.  That's when I am my truest self.  That's what I want.  That's what I need.  And Go Mode blocks me from accessing that.

Musings: On Being "The Responsible One"

I have been "the responsible one" since I was a little kid.  I've always been a rule follower, I've had an overdeveloped guilt complex since the age of 6, and as I got older, my anxiety never allowed me to really even consider stepping off the straight and narrow path.  As an adult, I still function the same way.  I am, by default, the one in charge of keeping my household running smoothly, making sure everyone gets everything done on time and gets where they need to be when they need to be there.  I am the advance planner, the one who stays on top of the calendar, who knows what's happening when, and reminds everyone of what they need to be doing.  Usually, this isn't a bad thing.  It keeps life running smoothly, keeps everyone functioning well, and I'm usually pretty much in control of the situation (which, as an anxiety-ridden control freak, is comforting to me).  But every once in a while, it becomes the worst kind of curse.

Recently, I learned about an opportunity that I've been hoping for for a while.  It's out of town, but it's within easy driving distance, and I have family nearby who I could stay with.  At any other time, it would be a no-brainer.  But...COVID.  Because my youngest still can't get vaccinated yet (and even if they approve the vaccine for the littles this month, she still won't be fully vaccinated by the time this event happens, because it's a three-dose series), we are still in pretty strict lockdown, and I can't justify going to an indoor event with so many people, especially since many of them probably won't even be wearing masks.  Obviously I would wear a mask the whole time, and limit my time there as much as possible.  But I don't know if that's enough.  I've been going back and forth, even asking the internet (via facebook and twitter) to weigh in with their gut instincts, "yes" or "no", with no background information.  The results I got were also almost 50/50.  I have talked specifically about it (with details) with four people.  Three said yes, one said no.

I feel like this is a test, but I don't know what I'm being tested on.  There are two possible things, and they are basically in direct opposition to each other in this instance.  So I really don't know what I'm supposed to do.  On the one hand, all the work I've been trying to do on myself tells me I should go.  If I don't go, I'm letting my anxiety win.  I'm letting it override what my heart tells me to do.  I'm holding myself back because I'm scared.  I always miss out on things that would probably be really good for me, because I make excuses and let my anxiety control my decision-making.  Part of what I've been working on is not getting in my own way so much, and not closing doors before they open.  Feel it, do it, be it.  Also, there's no guarantee that there will be other opportunities like this in the future.  I would regret it forever if I didn't go, and there ended up not being another opportunity.  Plus, it would be a real break from mom life (which I desperately need), and an opportunity for some fun bonding time with my sister-in-law.  On the other hand, knowingly doing something high risk that could make all of my efforts over the past 2+ years for nothing, and not doing everything I can to keep my kids safe (especially the little one, since she has no protection) is a risk I can't justify taking.  My husband says I should go.  He says that the risk of me catching Covid there is low, and even if I did, the risk of me getting it AND passing it to the kids is lower, and the risk of me catching it, passing it to the kids, AND it having some catastrophic outcome is even lower.  But even if the odds are one in a million, someone has to be that one.  And with my luck, it would probably be us.  And because of all the trauma I have from my last pregnancy, plus some other stuff from before that, that's a risk I'm not willing to take.

So I'm at an impasse.  One day I think I should go, the next I'm convinced I shouldn't.  I just go back and forth, and most of the time I'm stuck right in the middle.  The biggest problem I'm having with this is that I feel like in this particular instance, the anxiety I'm feeling is actually legit, and not my usual overblown sense of danger.  But on the other hand, if I don't go, I am sacrificing my own happiness and self-care for my kids, and I will resent that to some extent.  It's not logical, but I just know that what I feel about this opportunity (and all of the things that made me manifest it) is real, and it's me, and it's something I've been missing for SO LONG.  Like this piece of my core being that was lost (or stolen from me) is back, and I need to feed it, and nurture it, and give it the care it needs to survive.  I wish I had a crystal ball or something, so I could know the right decision to make.  If I could KNOW that my kid won't die if I go, or if I could KNOW that there will be another opportunity to do this sometime in the future when it's safer, then I could make a decision.

Even though it generally serves me pretty well, right now I just hate always being "the responsible one".  I hate that I can literally never turn it off.  Especially when I'm constantly seeing everyone else doing stuff, and I still can't allow myself ONE questionably irresponsible decision.  All my asking other people's opinions isn't going to help.  What I'm really looking for is for someone to give me permission to give myself permission to do this.  To tell me that it's okay to break out of the "responsible one" cage ONE TIME, and that it won't destroy my entire life.  But honestly, even if everyone told me that, I don't think I could trust it.  I am forever "the responsible one".  I can't be anything else.  And right now, it feels like a curse.  Constant vigilance is exhausting, and it's been over two years.  I am SO over it.  And I think this was just the straw that broke the camel's back.  I'm TIRED.  I'm frustrated.  I can't keep doing this.  I also don't really have a choice.  Something's gotta give.

(NOTE: I am holding off on making any actual decisions about this at least until we hopefully find out what's happening with the vaccines for the littles later this month.  I don't have to decide right now, I have some time to figure it all out.  I'm just tired and frustrated and OVER IT, and writing it out helps me release some of that frustration, and also sometimes helps me sort through my thoughts.  We'll see if it helps at all this time.)