When I step outside myself and look in, I see a shell of a person who is doing their best to get by. But others don’t see that. I sat in therapy on Friday and just talked, ranted, and explained my week in detail and why I feel entitled to act the way I do. I hide behind my anxiety, I predict scenarios based on repeated behaviors and patterns.
It’s like living a double life, the life in my head, and the present.
I get frustrated when I don’t get enough sleep.
I went to an awesome 50th birthday party over the weekend. It was my third one this year. (Reminder, in a few months, I turn 50). Like the other two, it was themed, and catered, and I didn’t know many people there. I tend to enjoy parties that I don’t know many people at, probably because it loosens the reigns of social anxiety. But even after an afternoon nap, I was still tired. I found a spot and sat. I had no energy to talk to people, to dance (and woah, they built a dancefloor over the pool). Less than a mile away was another birthday party at a bar with live music. My husband and I were on different levels. He was vibing out and getting his Saturday night groove on. I kept yawning and making every attempt for him to show sympathy and take us home. It was probably around 10 pm when I looked at him and was like “Yo, if you want to stay and enjoy yourself that’s all good, I’m gonna get an Uber”.
A friend said, “All is fair in love and music”. The best advice she gave me a year or two ago is that she and her husband take two cars when they go out. I admire this strategy. She has the freedom to make her own decisions about when she arrives and leaves.
I tend to get anxious feeling rushed to leave the house, and then there’s my husband’s driving which I don’t think I will ever get used to. There are many times, residual anxiety dances in my brain as my husband attempts to confide in me on our drive. It causes extreme frustration because I’ve already disassociated.
I’m pretty sure he would be crushed if I suggested we try out driving separately, he loves to enter a room with me by his side, even if I’m feeling crushed on my insides. I can’t help but think that perhaps I would have more energy because my mind isn’t racing so much from the car ride or any additional unnecessary anxiety I have for the night. I feel like I might feel safer. I feel like I wouldn’t let him down so much, and therefore feel better about myself.
Then I think, it’s unfair to him. Why should he have to compensate and compromise with my anxiety? Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I just dismiss these thoughts, the lists, the feelings?
Because I’m human. Maybe a compromise like this will fill my love cup. And in return, I would have more to give. In a world where I feel underappreciated, maybe a compromise would help me feel heard and respected.
Or maybe I’m being overdramatic and suck it up.
disbih on rinse and repeat.
Also, Shannon Daughtery passed away this weekend. Fucking Brenda. This hits. Wait, she’s gets her own post.