I am 48 years old. Just turned.
I am terrified of just about everything. I don’t know how I get out of bed some days. People terrify me, things terrify me, being outside terrifies me, as does the idea that I might become a hermit because I’m afraid of being outside. I can’t bring myself to go to new places and meet new people because I’m terrified something bad will happen.
I learned young that the person I was inside was not acceptable to anyone, especially my family. I began separating myself from them emotionally as circumstances conspired to prove my suspicions correct. I was completely unlovable, and the one mistake God was allowed to make was wasted creating me. These are the lessons I was taught, intentionally or not, as I developed. I got used to my thoughts being invalidated, my every idea shot down by the people around me, my family. If something was not right, it was my fault, always, regardless of if I had anything to do with anything or was even there. The overarching lesson I learned: the person inhabiting this skin wasted it. I”m told that this notion of how I was raised is inaccurate, a figment of my imagination. That I took the wrong lesson from my childhood. I’ve always countered with, “Children only know what they are taught.”
I learned early to conform, to not be different from everybody else. No matter how unproductive someone else’s behaviour was, I was wrong for not emulating it, and, “Who do you think you are? You’re not better than everybody else!” I heard frequently. Something else I learned early on: if I wanted something, I had to work for it, no matter how deserving I might have otherwise been.
Ok, so now it’s several months later, well into the next year in fact, and I’ve just re-read that. I must have been having a very bad day that day. It was the first anniversary of Eric’s death, so I must have been on a downward spiral. That I never managed to finish the post pretty much confirms my frame of mind that day.
So, where am I today, months after I started this post? Having finally let permanently go of a toxic relationship, facilitated by a move back to my hometown, I am certainly much lighter in spirit, as well as in pocket. I’ve begun a few new business ventures, none of which is yet profitable, but everyone has to start somewhere. It’s much the same, other than that I am finally in a better position to move forward. The problem is, I’m not sure I am moving forward. I feel as though I am in a holding pattern, waiting for air traffic control to give me the okay to either take off or land. In the meantime, I’m not sure if I’m circling or taxiing.
I know what I have to do (get off my ass) I’m just not doing it. I can’t even bring myself to call all those people back that are wanting to be on the show, although I am dying to get it started again. I only realized I’ve been on hiatus for two months two days ago, and that the choice to go on hiatus was not a conscious one. I just stopped working on the show. Just stopped, and I can’t remember why. I’m not afraid of failure and really, how could I fail? Everything I do is mine to do as I wish and with as I please. The results, consequences and credit for what I do are all mine, no one can take any of it away, and I have no intention of giving it away. I’m just not doing it.
Perhaps I need to up my meds. More likely, I need to get up off my butt and get moving.