Yesterday’s pain loiters in my consciousness, an unwelcome visitor whose incessant self-centered small talk has become a sort of white noise of negative messaging in the background of my day; anxiety. My intellect, and years of experience, tell me the anxiety, although difficult to dismiss or suppress, isn’t ‘real’. Well, it isn’t real like my keyboard, my office chair, my desk, or the sounds of humanity all around me. It’s a very different sort of ‘real’, commanding my attention without a concrete presence.
I am trembling and nauseous, watchful and hesitant, short of breath and feeling the weight of my fears and doubts on my chest. “It will pass…” I tell myself, over and over, as I work. “Focus on work, follow the routine…” the mundane details of daily life distract and soothe…eventually. I’m sleeping at night… that’s something. Anxiety is much worse if I am not sleeping… but the nightmares ruin my concentration and feeling of peace. Nightmares of violence, nightmares of being trapped, nightmares that are my sleeping mind alerting my waking mind that I feel overwhelmed – as if I didn’t know. The headache isn’t helping me with finding balance and feeling calm, a search that has gradually become more a puzzle than a journey, over the past year. I hurt and it clouds my thinking.
…I need some quiet time to think. I need to spend some quality time with myself – figure things out, focus on my heart, my soul… I need to paint. Peculiarly, although I am aware of my needs, I struggle to meet them lately. My last opportunity, and only opportunity since before the holiday season, ended badly – I was anxious almost to the point of terror, and feeling more lonely than solitary, confused, and somehow bereft of purpose and meaning, both trapped and exposed. It wasn’t a very good way to spend 24 hours and now I find myself vaguely reluctant to try again, even while I feel like I can’t manage my time well enough to get a moment alone. Being a human primate, a being of both reason and emotion, sometimes seems needlessly complicated.
I need to walk more; I can really think when I am walking. I need to be more consistent with my yoga practice; it helps me relax and be mindful and serene, and compassionate with myself. I need to talk less, and listen more. I need to find a quiet space to call my own. I have hopes that the rose garden can become that space, over time… I sure need to figure something out, solve the anxiety like a problem, somehow.
Evening Light 
hands in the dirt, brushes in the paint, feet on the path. you know the solution to your puzzle, e.h., so make it happen. you know you have nothing to give to your significant others if you aren’t giving yourself what you need first.
and of course it is not going to magically fix everything. while you are first taking back your life and purpose, you know there will be rocky days when you will simply have to “act as if” things are okay when they don’t feel okay yet, but trust what you know about yourself. it is real; it is true; i am witness.
Thank you, Nalla. It is wonderful to know you are out there with your gentle wisdom. Funny how similar your words are to the words of encouragement I hear from my partners… wise loving people fill my life, and that, whether I can connect with it in the moment or not, is a wonderful thing, indeed.
When you aren’t painting, or walking, or doing yoga, what are you choosing to do instead?
When there are things I ought to do for myself (clean my physical space to improve my mental space, exercise to make normal activity less strenuous, sleep to … be sleeping), if I’m not, I’m almost always choosing to read instead. It takes some rearrangement of priorities and effort for me to choose in favor of the longer term payoff.
Tonight I learned you’ll never win Rock-Paper-Scissors against your reflection.