I’m anxious and slight depressed at the moment. Don’t even ask me why or point out how great my life is because anxiety and depression do not give two rat fucks about how great your life is. But I’m to the point where I can acknowledge this is going on and that means I’m starting the upswing and can finally get my shit together.

I hope.

I have to fly this week. After the last experience flying I’m really not looking forward to it but I’ll have to fly again some time, anyway, because I like to go places and so why not just get it over with. Besides, I bought the tickets before the last experience and I cannot get a refund and I’m a big girl and I can do this. I’m just not at all looking forward to it.

Like most people, I had a three day weekend. I spent Saturday with my morning walk then doing errands and lunching and car shopping with my boyfriend. I spent Sunday going on a day trip to a lovely hike with lovely friends. Then I spent Monday doing a whole lot of nothing that I had planned to.

Sunday’s hike has a few areas I’m not a fan of when my anxiety isn’t in place. But when it is? Good lord, I’ll act like a loon. But, luckily, my friends know me and they deal with me and get me through them and refuse to let me get angry at myself about it. My brain works the way it works and sometimes I can fight it and other times I cannot.

I had all of these grand plans for Monday. I was going to dust and vacuum my house. I was going to clean off the patio, patio furniture, and pool toys. I was going to test the sprinkler system to make sure they are all functioning as I suspect they are not. I was going to organize at least one room in my house. I was going to take my morning walk.

Instead I sat on the couch for a lot of the day and spent time in front of the computer a lot of the day reuploading photos to my Flickr account to use as a backup. And when I found myself obsessively organizing them once they were there is when I realized “Oh, Andrea….you’re in your slightly bad place.”

I have a lot of friends in my life that also deal with anxiety and depression. I have a lot of people in my life that do not. And what I am finding is that in a lot of ways, neither group has a good understanding of me. Which is fine, but sometimes it’s not helpful when they’re trying to be helpful. Anxiety, much like body shapes and sizes, is not the same from person to person. Yes, generally speaking it is. Much like we all have a heart, a brain, two lungs, etc. there are aspects of anxiety that are present in each of us. But, like, when I’m really in it…even though I have the OCD tendencies, I can’t do anything other than organize photos and then be as chill as possible. To be chill as if being chill is my profession. Because my body and my brain are humming so I have to be chill. And I cannot be chill if I’m dusting or vacuuming or any of the other things. Others put the nervous energy into doing that. Others can direct their energy into other things. I’m not that person. I have steps to go through. I have stages. So, it’s great for those of us that can divert. I’m not you. I wish I was. I logically and intellectually absolutely understand that if I could divert, I’d get out of my mess sooner and easier. If I could just make myself do that morning walk, I’d feel better. If I could divert all of that into cleaning and organizing, I’d feel better. Emotionally, however, I don’t have it. And that’s fine.

Sometimes, I just want to be understood. I just want to feel more acceptance and understanding. It likely won’t happen since when I want that the most is when I go the most hermitty because I just can’t. I cannot with all of the talking and all of the doing and all of the stuff. I just want “you” to understand through osmosis, but sheer force of loving me and caring about me. To pick it up through the airwaves and then to realize “yes! I understand her and what she needs and I will do this.” It’s an impossible request. People that have known me for my entire life still don’t get it. Maybe I’m to blame. I’m terribly good at just taking care of myself, after all.

At any rate, I’m up a pound and down in steps and I know why and maybe after I fly away and then fly back home and that’s behind me I can truly begin the climb out of this recent bout of crap. That’s my plan. I have a plan.

It’s good to have a plan.




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