holdon-goingdowntherabbithole

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

I used to have a best friend that had some really cool shoes. I’m not much of a shoe girl myself, but these ones caught my eye and I loved them. She had gotten by accident, a custom order by someone who never picked them up, and she just happened to be in the right place after they were abandoned and bought them. She told me countless times that she’d gift them to me in her will, or let me borrow them, or something else silly - and although I knew I’d never have them, I never forgot them either.

My best friend and I had a falling out and with that came the loss of joking about “my” beloved shoes. I never saw her after that, so surely I never saw her foot wear and a part of my brain filed that away under the same category that she fell into: sought after, cool, and never to be seen again.

When I met my partner it was during the pandemic. We were in different countries, and in a way, worlds apart. Our only means of a budding romance relied heavily on Wi-Fi, and we spent most of our days talking on the phone for hours.

When our first gift giving occasion came about, it was clear to me that I had shared about these shoes at some point, because she remembered. Before I even knew it was happening, I had a bright and shiny pair of shoes that mimicked the ones I had told her about that I loved.

I had never felt more listened to in that moment, because I’m sure I only mentioned them once.

These shoes fit me like a glove. I was afraid to wear them unless I knew how my night would play out and that they’d be safe. I didn’t just like how they looked, I love what they meant to me. In a way I felt like I had shared a very small part of myself from a situation that hurt me, and she came in, full of love, full of support, and gave me a better version of what I had lost. They are my favorite shoes.

In the last couple of weeks I have been wearing them more frequently without as much regard to their well being at the end of the day. Wearing them makes me feel close to her. Seeing them reminds me.

A few weeks ago I got out of work and went home with aching feet. The night after, the same. It didn’t occur to me until someone mentioned my shoes being the problem after a night of complaining. But surely, it couldn’t be. They aren’t old and worn. They aren’t what I consider to be broken in, through the tests of time. They’re still lovely to me. They’re still beautiful. They’re still my favorite shoes.

But, the shoes hurt.

I love them so much, but they hurt me. They can’t support me, all of a sudden, and for some reason. They are great shoes, but squeezing my feet into them everyday doesn’t make my feet hurt less every night.

A part of me wants to wear those shoes till they actually fall off my feet, and a bigger part of me is asking myself why I don’t seek comfort. Why don’t I deserve that? Why am I so willing to be in pain to make them last when I have done nothing up to to this point but adore them, yet it still doesn’t feel like the right fit.

There’s a lot to be said about how important shoes are. They protect a vulnerable part of you, they cushion you when you need to walk through something tough. They add to your vibe.. or they don’t.

They always says the right shoes will complete a look -

- I’d rather be barefoot.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

As above, so below

It’s easy to be overwhelmed in your 20’s. You’re making a lot of big decisions. Buying cars, houses, having babies, getting married, traveling, moving, starting careers, transitioning. I’m no stranger to being overwhelmed by trying to make every decision count. But, what I don’t think we talk about enough is being overwhelmed by nothing. By silence. By complacency. By the pressure on us, from us. Sitting in a room for 16 hours and watching Netflix, when you know there’s more you could be doing, is overwhelming. Trying to relax is overwhelming. Self care and self love is overwhelming. Being lazy is overwhelming. Sleeping too much is overwhelming. Day to day house work is overwhelming. So why don’t we talk about it? Why is “overwhelming” always talked about when people are juggling school, and work, and a new baby? It’s not that it isn’t. But waking up on your day off, with no direction, and an eerily quiet house, with dishes piled in the sink, and hair that hasn’t seen a shower in two days, is also overfuckingwhelming.

There’s an exuberant amount of loathing that goes into being overwhelmed, and that comes in every shade of disdain. When it IS a new baby, and school, and work, society gives you a pass in the sense that people see how full your plate is, and understand why you’re not texting back, or making plans, or keeping up with housework. But when you’re recluse, childless, working a job, not yet a career, and seemingly have all the free time in the world to get things done, there’s a harshness and a judgment that comes along with it. There are stresses on that plate, but because they’re not necessarily traditional, that plate has a level of cling wrap that even TSA can’t see through, and with that being said, that full plate is never fully taken into consideration. Out of sight, out of mind.

But I hear you, I see you, and I am you. I understand that background stress and the weight that it holds, I understand being able to pull off intricate last minute dinner parties, and birthday celebrations for friends, but not being able to put away your laundry for three weeks. I understand how crushing that lack of routine is, and how overwhelmed you feel by just existing when you don’t have something pressing to bubble you back to the surface for a breath, before you go back under.

Silence and mediocrity and idle time are just as overwhelming for some of us, and I am not ashamed for leading a different path but feeling the weight of the same struggle.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Every Sunday, for as long as I can remember, I have read the Sunday secrets at Postsecret.com, and have saved some over time that I thought really applied to me. I saw this one, this past Sunday and have been trying to find a way to write about it ever since because a part of me felt attached to this Post-it.

I remember when I came out, slowly and nervously to all of my friends and family, and I was accepted by (almost) nothing but love. That was about eight years ago, now. That paved the way for the relationships that followed, meaning that no one was surprised. As no one was surprised when I married a woman because of what I had proclaimed all those years ago, something that I had wholeheartedly believed at the time.

Imagine my shock when, post divorce, I sat down and had to accept that over the years, I had had feelings or attractions for the opposite sex that I ignored due to my own pride, or out of respect for my current relationship, or out of sheer denial, etc. It took a lot for me to process it myself and even longer to admit it to my friends that had cheered me on as their lesbian friend for nearly a decade. Still, up until now, there were are only five or so people that were privy to the knowledge of this self exploration journey that I’ve been on. The reason being that, I met most of my current friends in my “adult life” and they knew me one way, and most of those friendships have seen my relationships in full swing. So, it left me feeling almost ashamed when I begrudgingly had to admit my attraction outside of the “lesbian” label that I stamped on my head.

I realized recently that I have spent a great deal of my life putting myself into boxes of what I like, and don’t like, right down to the type of food I eat, the bands I’ve listened to, the experiences I’ve had or opted out of, etc. In that realization, a bigger one followed, and in it, I was suddenly aware that I wasn’t happy with who I am, and perhaps in part, that was due to me making all of these concrete decisions, instead of making decisions for the time being with a chance of expanding my horizons later (I.e I have never had honey mustard, and I might not have wanted to put it on a chicken sandwich I usually enjoy that day in question, but should maybe test my taste buds down the line when I was feeling more adventurous. Instead, I have flat out said that I don’t like honey mustard from the jump.) Now, I think it’s possible to form concrete decisions on your likes and dislikes, but I also think that you shouldn’t knock it till you try it before making those decisions.

If anyone reading this is following my point, and thinking “but Maggie, you had boyfriends when you were younger, so you did try it out,” let me stop you, because I absolutely did have middle school and high school crushes, awkward first kisses, and group dates to movies, but no where in my adult life have I tested this theory, until recently.

The bottom line here is that, I don’t know if it’s for me. I know myself well enough to know that I enjoy dating a woman, and if I had to guess, that’d be my next move, should there be one, romantically. However, I am done slapping a label on myself, and done denying myself experiences of all kinds, that would potentially make me happy, and I am certainly not going to entertain the bullshit backlash from the LGBTQ+ community, that claims to be all inclusive, so long as you don’t switch it up on them. I am a human. I have a big heart and a lot of love to give, and if I date again in the future, I will date who is right for that heart and this mind based off their heart and their mind.

With all of this being said, in a world of self identifying who we think we are, I choose to pass.

Here’s to the gray area of self exploration, happiness, acceptance, and honey mustard.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Take it back now, y’all.

Whenever I’ve thought about the stages of grief, I associated them with death. It never occurred to me that it was possible to mourn the loss of someone who is still very much alive. It still didn’t occur to me that that was what was happening, until I felt myself going through the motions. I have written about my divorce in one way or another a few times now. I realized that even in doing that, it was part of this bigger stage that I was in. I’ve decided to pick apart each stage and write about how I was affected in each one, so that if nothing else, someone else going through this or something similar, has the comfort of knowing they’re not alone. I don’t think that these stages necessarily come in order, they didn’t for me, and I think it’s entirely possible that I have circled back around to the same ones a few times. I also believe that I have yet to go through all of them, and because of that, I will only give my opinion, based on what I know about myself, on what I think is to come. I would wait to complete this when I have undergone each stage, but I would feel like I was unintentionally rushing myself to feel things that I might not be ready to feel yet, for the sake of completing this, and that would be cheating myself out of a vital part of healing.

 “ACCEPTANCE”

When everything came to a head, I was on a long drive back to Pennsylvania from Mississippi. I remember texting Amanda and asking her point blank if she wanted to be with me anymore. At the time, her tone had changed recently and I think I had chalked it up to it being a stressful time for both of us. My Nana had just passed away, and Amanda had just left for deployment. In between these two events, we had a matter of weeks to pack up our belongings, get a storage unit, say our goodbyes and map out the course for the next six months or so.

 When I asked Amanda that question, I thought the answer would have been yes, without question. Looking back, I think the real reason I asked was because I had felt a shift and I wanted the validation of that definitive “yes” to quell my uneasiness. I was convinced it’d come with an air of confusion, because I figured she would have been floored by me ever thinking anything different. I didn’t get that “yes,” well, not entirely. I got an answer that was the truth disguised with a pleasantry. It took all of a few hours for more of the truth to come out, at which point, we had landed on a nauseating “I don’t know.”

For as long as I can remember, my anxiety has been in idle time. In the moment, I am very fortunate to possess the quality of keeping a clear head, despite how hard my emotions try to pull me in a different direction. So, like with anything else that may cause panic in the moment, I replied that that was okay, that we would always be best friends, that I still loved her, and that I understood.

The reason that I have this section titled “ACCEPTANCE,” is to signify that this was not at all acceptance. This was a knee jerk reaction to something gut wrenching. No matter how I try to compartmentalize it and even go the extra mile to wrap it up and put a bow on it, this box could never be filed under acceptance.

 DENIAL

It’s more than likely that when we’re growing up, our parents will always find that one friend that they wish we wouldn’t hangout with, but being kids and wanting to defy any logic, we continue to hangout with them until it turns out that our parents were right all along. Denial has been that friend for me for months. I have to give Amanda credit with this one, we had a lot of conversations that ended in her saying she was unsure of her feelings and once or twice, she seemed to think that maybe we had a shot, but not once did she rescind altogether and say that she wanted to be with me for sure. I was convinced that despite that, it was going to come eventually. For months I had this voice in the back of my mind urging me to stop crying, to stop begging, and to brace myself for the reunion that was bound to happen. I convinced myself that Amanda and I were this unstoppable force and that this was just a rough patch that would blow over in all of our years together to come.  I was convinced that loving her with all of my might was enough to overcome the worst of obstacles, and that eventually she would see it that way too. On too many occasions, I called her with news about my day and would work “when we get back together” into the conversation. Each and every time, she kept talking, or listening, or laughed, but even those not so subtle hints didn’t stop me from believing it to be true.

Denial might be the hardest stage, in my opinion. I say that because I feel that it’s the foundation of some of the more mentally draining stages, such as depression and anger. Either way, denial stuck around like a bad habit and it was only till very recently that I discovered that I was working my way out of that stage.

 DEPRESSION

Crying is bound to happen when anything upsetting occurs. I knew that was normal. I even knew that it was normal how much I was crying. I didn’t start to worry too much about my mental health throughout this, until I noticed myself slipping, in more ways than one, and noticing that I wasn’t doing anything to change it. I wouldn’t sleep, or I’d sleep for an entire day. I wouldn’t eat, or I’d eat so much that I was uncomfortable, way past the point of being full. I’d lay in bed and feel nothing. I had no will to get up, get showered, get dressed, see friends, or do much of anything that didn’t involve me being horizontal, in bed, and starring at the ceiling.

I had spent so much of my life making decisions contingent on two people. My goals and dreams for the future were always built for two. When Amanda left, I felt like my entire world had been ripped away from me, I felt like I lost my home, my things, my friends, my sense of stability, comfort, support, and love. I suddenly felt like I had no idea who I was, because who I had been was sculpted into a marriage that ended up crumbling. Feeling like you don’t know yourself is one of the weirdest things to try to explain. It’s eerie, because although it was scary, it came with no desire to find myself. I was convinced that I did something to deserve this, so be it for me to be lost and numb.

Most times I am an open book, but unfortunately there are parts to this stage that I have no choice but to keep private, because I simply can not put into words where my mind went some days. I lost the love of my life, and living that truth makes things far from pretty while you’re going through the brute of it.

 BARGAINING

When I was a lot younger, I remember stumbling across an episode of The Girls Next Door, and being so confused on how one man had multiple girlfriends and that they were all okay with the other one being in his life. Again, I was a lot younger so money, publicity, “made for TV,” and adult content in general wasn’t in my wheelhouse. Fast forward to middle school. Riddled with puberty acne, slightly overweight, and not having yet mastered the technique of waterline eyeliner, I was pretty insecure. I saw a lot of budding romances within my peers, and eventually, I longed for the same thing. I remember making a moral compromise with myself, by willing the universe to bring me a boyfriend, in exchange for my willingness to share. Cue the for-mentioned fascination with the thought of sharing a significant other. My self esteem told me that it just wouldn’t be possible for me to have someone interested in me solely, but I figured if I could work my way in and respect that I was not the only person of attention, that I could be happy with what little space I would hold, because in my mind, it was better than nothing. Let’s jump forward again, years later, I remember that thought coming up as a painful memory of how low I considered myself to be, and I almost laughed at the idea of that ever being a rational thought, and I promised my younger self, that we were better than that, and I apologized to my younger self for ever feeling that unimportant.

Bargaining is a broad stage, in my opinion, because throughout this, I bargained with Amanda to let herself fall in love with me again, with myself to be better for her, with some sort of higher power to bring her back to me, with my friends who had to reality check me time and time again to respect her process and accept that I had accepted my pain was the trade off, etc. At one point, I digressed into that little girl with low self-esteem, and I figured that I could sit by and wait for Amanda to date other people, so long as it meant that I was in the mix too, and because I loved her in a way that I was desperate to salvage, that was good enough for me.

Looking back, just a short while after, I am saddened for myself all over again, that I would accept that just to keep someone around that so clearly didn’t want to be there.

 ANGER

I will write about what I have already experienced here, but if we’re being completely honest, I believe that I am still feeling the effects of this stage. Anger manifests from so many things, feeling abandoned is definitely something that will cause that to flare up for me. I try very hard not to get angry over little things, and to look at the bigger picture (that, being that, Amanda, though we are not together, is happy, is safe, and is healthy) but sometimes, its hard to look at how well she’s doing and not want to scream. It’s such a catch 22, because I want her to be happy, but I selfishly want it to be with me. I want her to reach her goals, but I thought we would be reaching goals together. I want her have nice things, but why does she get to keep all of our nice things for herself? Channeling my anger constructively has been one of the most taxing parts about this whole ordeal and I have lashed out more times than I’d like to admit.

Something that bothers me, more than most, is that a very big part of this process for me has been embarrassment. When I first told people that Amanda and I were getting married, I was met with tons of negative opinions from friends and family. Despite their lack of well wishes, I decided to marry her because I felt like they were wrong. I opened my soul and gave all my trust to one person. I don’t regret it, but when these things end, the vulnerability of the situation can be overwhelming, and that leaves a lot of room for embarrassment to creep in when you’re seeking comfort from the same people that told you not to do it in the first place. This, in itself, causes a great deal of frustration and resentment.

I’m angry because I feel stupid, because I can’t fathom how things ended the way they did and why she could walk away so easily. I don’t want to be mad at her, but I am trusting this process in hope that in time, I can stop being bitter.

 ACCEPTANCE

It’s probably of no surprise that this stage has yet to come on, at least not fully, and I’m sure that’s because I have more rounds to go with each stage already mentioned. My hope for acceptance is that I learn something in the process. I hope that I can someday I look back, smile and have made peace with it all. I don’t have much I can say here for the time being, and I couldn’t speak frankly if I let myself type anything other than truth. The hard truth is that I know this will come, but I don’t know when, and I will allow myself to get there when I get there.

   To anyone feeling these emotions, going through something similar, or just having a rough time – I get it. Don’t loose yourself too much, you’ll find a way.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Life jacket

I think one of the hardest realizations that I ever had to come to terms with was that love is not a set definition. Begrudgingly, I have recently had to endure the pain of someone I love, falling out of love with me. I can only speak on my behalf, so I’m not sure if this was a slow process or if it came on all at once, but a big part of me hopes that it’s accompanied by even the slightest regret. I have felt pain in my life, and then now I have felt this, and I’m not sure how to describe it other than, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. The worst part of it all is the questions. I have gone over it in my head a million and one times, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how this could be possible, how someone I care so deeply for can just shut off their feelings, and if there was really love there, on their end, to start. The questions and the anxiety that has come along with those questions is some of the heaviest of weights that I’ve ever carried. Like anything else, it comes in waves. I tell myself, and everyone around me, that life goes on, and that I will overcome this just I have any other misfortunes that life has thrown at me, but then the reality of it sets in and I feel like I am drowning. Not only do I feel like I am drowning, I feel like I am swimming with anchors tied to both feet, waving my arms, while the person I love is doing an impressively quick backstroke in the opposite direction. And better yet, I have been ignoring that I’m drowning. I’ve been trying to take every gulp of water with a smile, every crashing wave to the face as a momentary set back, and I just keep waving those damn arms, and kicking those tired feet while feeling all of my energy and hope and tenacity being swept away with every changing of the tide. This, in itself, opens up even more questions because I start to ponder about my self-worth, and when I’ve endured enough pain to atone for my side of the arguments over the years, my poor decision making and how it could be my fault that we got here.

I struggle constantly with who’s really to blame, and if I’m giving myself too much credit or if her perception of me was one that I wasn’t aware that she resented. Although, I vividly remember that safe feeling being present in every fight, knowing that no matter how bad things got, and no matter how many things were shrieked in anger, that in the morning, we’d wake up together. I’m not sure that that feeling ever went away, at least not for me, but perhaps it was just something else whittling away while I was too busy thinking up countermoves.

My marriage wasn’t perfect, but to me, she was. And to be consistent if nothing else, that adds more questions. What is perfect and how skewed did I have it, if this is the outcome?

I’d like to end this on a positive note, I’d really like to say that I am taking a lesson here and that I’m going to carry it out for the greater good, but right now, everything hurts and I am only human and I need something to give.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

The tea

For the last six months or so, I’ve had various conversations about moving on. More or less how I thought that I had to move on, or others remarking at me moving on, or how moving on seemed to be the “next step” in my life.

Today I realized how stupid that is.

The implication of “moving on” is that I will leave her and all memories of her in the past, but I will never move on from my marriage. I will never stop thinking that my soon-to-be-ex wife is anything but a wonderful person. I will never stop viewing her as my family. I never want to forget the memories we made, the laughs we shared or the hardships we overcame together. I will never regret our marriage, our life or our love for one another and I don’t see any shame in that.

If I have learned anything in the last six months, it’s that life is unpredictable, messy and confusing. Divorce, much like life, can also be unpredictable, messy and confusing - but that doesn’t mean that you throw the whole person away just because they’re no longer fitting into a certain category for you.

Throughout this process, I have found myself feeling hopeless, angry, devastated and frustrated more times than I can count. I have cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I have replayed every stupid fight and missed opportunity over and over again in my mind, trying to find out what went wrong, but the hard truth of it is this: sometimes things just don’t work out but that doesn’t mean that they weren’t worth it.

I am sad, I am confused, I am unsure of the plan b that’ll exist without her as my wife, but I am also grateful for what I’ve learned, I am happy to have been a component of something so beautiful and I am proud of my strength.

I will not move on, I will move forward because I didn’t lose her, we just have to try now to love each other in a different way, but god dammit, in one way or another, I will love her always.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Baby steps

Today I cleaned my living room.

It’s not something that usually deserves recognition or a pat on the back. It’s not something that anyone would usually bat an eye at. Today it was my focal point and highlight of my day and I am so proud of myself.

Very rarely, I get in these lows that keep me from doing the most basic things. Cleaning. Cooking myself food. Getting out of bed. I know I need to do these things, I know that I should desire to do these things. It’s not that I don’t want to, I feel like I can’t. I’m not lazy, I hate staying still, I hate staying anywhere for longer than a few hours. I like to fill my day, everyday, to the brim because with too much idle time, these days get more frequent.

So when these days do come rolling around, usually in week long stays, I feel like I don’t recognize myself. I hate feeling like the thought of doing anything is taken over by the weight of imaginary anchors on my ankles. I hate messes. I just want to clean. But, I can’t. I will lay, for hours, envisioning vacuuming my bedroom, but suddenly the day has passed and I’ll think “maybe tomorrow.”

Earlier today my wife sat next to me while I stared at the same nail polish on my vanity for twenty minutes. I need to paint my nails because they’re chipped. I’ve been intending to do it for days, but I haven’t found the time in between laying in one position and then laying in another.

She eventually made me stand up. I knew that I could have gotten out of it, but I also hate for her or anyone to see me be the worst version of myself. I went to the store with my wife and I kept hoping that we wouldn’t run into anyone because I knew I wouldn’t be able to pick my eyes up to look at them the way a person deserves while exchanging hellos. I counted down every second till we left.

Back at the house, I sat and thought about putting more comfortable clothes on for over two hours, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand up, walk to my room and change.

Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, the vacuum didn’t seem too far away. Neither did the broom or the dust rag. The living room needed my attention and I finally had some to give.

I cleaned my living room today and I’m going to paint my nails. Baby steps back to good.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Riptide

I am a thinker. From the time I wake up to when I finally fall asleep, my mind is racing. Most days I appreciate that about myself, but sometimes I wish I could simply shut it off. I feel that way when I get stuck thinking and overthinking about something unpleasant. Recently, I thought for a few days straight about being bitter because of the wrongdoings I have endured. I stirred in thoughts of betrayal, broken promises, flaky friendships and other misfortunes. As much as I want to push these thoughts out, sometimes I throw myself a mental pity party because I victimize myself and think that being bitter, angry or mean are justified. I very seldomly allow anyone to see that side of me because, in the greater scheme of things, I am not that person. I try everyday not to be that person because I recognize I am above what being that person entails. Thus, in my recent loop of self loathing, I realized something important. I have been hurt and mistreated in ways I don’t like to remember, but, in all that - I choose to be kind. I choose to be patient. I choose to be positive. I choose to be light in a dark situation. That makes me stronger than any grip that my misfortunes have on me. The peace I find in not allowing my spirit to be crushed and tarnished, is astounding to me. We are all only human. We have all felt wronged and berated. It’s quick and easy to give in and be angry, to hold resentments, to want revenge and to be miserable in the remains of promises that were broken, tears that were shed, heartache that still lingers, trust and boundaries that were compromised but, allowing ourselves the patience to learn and grow and to move on is a beautiful thing. My victimizing thoughts are now directly accompanied by those of my triumph over the things I previously couldn’t forgive or forget. I can’t control others, but I can control how I react. I am thankful to have considered my self worth whilst in the midst of destruction on repeat. I will not hand over my happiness to the people that have tried to oppress it. I am a thinker. From the time I wake up, to the time that I finally fall asleep, my mind is racing. The days of appreciating that are starting to be less clouded by the days that I don’t because I owe it to my damn self and my peace of mind to be in my own corner, to brush myself off and to continue on with a smile.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Come one, come all.

A while back, I had a party. It was one of my first around a new group friends and I kept worrying that these new friends would show up at my house, feel awkward and the party would end before it even began because in all of my experience with parties, it was mainly fueled by booze and most people had opted out of drinking for the night. At first, things went as assumed, everyone was kind of quiet and not much was going on, I kept waiting to hear the magic words “I’m going to head out, thank you for having me.” Somehow, the majority of us found our way into the garage to hang out on the couches out there and before I knew it, everyone joined. Gathered around, I remember thinking about how different each of us were. Not one of us there that night had been born or brought up in the same state. We had different likes and dislikes, religions, morals and tales to tell. We had all walked different paths in our life, but we had all made our way to Mississippi one way or another and had picked up these small friendships along the way. In the midst of small talk, someone started singing. And then, someone else starting singing a song from the genre they liked. After that, I started singing along with two of my friends and quickly everyone in the room came together to either sing, “drum” on whatever surface, they could find, tap their feet, hum, etc. At that moment, we became one. We were no longer separated by our differences because we had found a common ground and we relished in it. We spent the next while taking turns singing and showering each other in compliments. I know it’s corny, but it was beautiful.

I think of that night often and fondly. Those people there that night are still very dear to me despite that time and distance have separated us. I don’t think any one of them know how important that moment and that night were to me because it made me feel, for the first time in Mississippi, like I was a part of something bigger.

Taking that night, for example, reminds me time and time again of how we, as a society, are so quick to cut people off because of their differences. How it’s so easy to turn your cheek to someone that might not think, look or act like you. Had I been the type of person to do that, I would have missed out on what has become one of my favorite memories and lifelong friendships with people that are beautiful both inside and out.

You’d be surprised what good can come into your life when you put good out. I strongly believe that good people with strong, kind souls will always find each other if you only allow yourself to accept and respect the differences between you. I’m forever grateful for the people that I have found and for those that have found me.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

As my time in Pennsylvania is coming to an end, it is leaving me with a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I nonetheless stand by my decision to come back home, although I didn't have to, and I am proud of myself for sticking it through. When I left over a year ago I left behind a great deal of unresolved issues and as a person I was not fond of. I left fragments of friendships, a false entitlement, a whole boat load of drama, a drunken stupor, and lots of empty hopes and goals. I opted to come back to PA to tackle these things head on and right my wrongs, grow from my mistakes and, make amends with others and myself. I knew in the months before that none of it was going to be easy and I tried my best to be readied for the lions den that I was throwing myself into, although ultimately, no amount of preparation could have prepared me for what the last six months have thrown at me. My time spent here has been both trying and rewarding but I am opting to concentrate on the good because I owe it to myself, and all of the work I have put into myself to mature as a person, to acknowledge the grace I applied to each of the hurdles I've encountered on this journey. I have held my head up and I have taken the high road each and every time that I have been lashed at or belittled or downright demeaned. I did this not because I feel it is what I deserve, but because I realize that although I can't change the action, I can choose how I handle it. I know my worth and I no longer look for it in the people and the city that tried to condemn me to a life of misery solely because I lost my way a long time ago. I am a damn good person and I won't grant anyone the ability to make me lose sight of that. All in all, coming back home has opened my eyes to a great deal and has left me with lessons I could have only learned in doing so. Going back down South, I am taking with me all of the pieces of myself that I thought were long since forgotten in my mistakes; my dignity, my confidence, my hope and ambition. Self forgiveness is a powerful thing and it took me a long time to realize that that was perhaps what I was missing all along. The person I was is not someone I can be proud of but she did lead me to becoming the best variation of myself that I can be and because of those lows, I can now fully appreciate all that I am today. My regrets and embarrassment that coincides with PA are a thing of my past and I can say confidently that I have reached peace with them. Here's to looking towards the future and taking on whatever life hurls at me with a clearer mind and a kinder heart.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Countdown

Right now everything is nearly perfect. I say nearly because although my friends are back home from their deployment, and my best friend is here from Pennsylvania, and because the weather is beautiful lately and because my wife is by my side every day –it’s all about to change. Again. And I feel like every time things start to go smoothly, it’s forced to come to an end. I have this cloud of anxiety hanging over the happiest moments because I want to freeze time and live in this nearly perfect moment that is fleeting. I trust what the universe gives me is to better educate me, to prepare me for the next step and make my life more purposeful, but sometimes I don’t trust the process in which a seemingly good thing is interrupted if not just taken away completely. I want to cherish what I have now but I’m finding it harder to do that when I can see the storm ahead. I sometimes fear that I can’t silence my anxiety with the changing tides and I wish someone would sit me down with a manual on figuring out my next move and how to handle it, how to come back from it and how to do it again the next time.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

It’s no secret that coming back to Pennsylvania is not something I truly want to do, but I noticed that that is mainly because of the misery that area brings and how I don’t want it to affect me. Coming to that realization made me realize even more so that my reason for coming back and not wanting to are the same: the people. Slowly but surely I’ve been cutting people out of my life for a multitude of reasons. Some because they already don’t like me and I have no will to try and change their minds, some because the only thing on their day to day agenda is drama, some because they don’t actually know me but only knew a drinking buddy version of me, etc etc etc. Some of these people are easy to be rid of because they already hold almost no significance in my life, but others are making this much harder than it needs to be. I am at the point where I don’t have the energy, care or time to help people that don’t want to be helped and I think it’s fair for me to say I’m ducking out of a friendship that has no substance left to it. It’s not that I stopped caring all together about people I used to be close with, in fact, I don’t think I could ever not care about someone I once did, but there’s no point in bringing excess drama and stress into my life for the sake of not pissing anyone off. So, if anyone reading this has noticed that I’ve unfriended them on Facebook, or stopped calling to check in - it’s not me, it’s you. I sincerely hope that someday you are at a better place in your life.

It’s time that I take myself and my peace of mind into consideration.

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

I love the express “who cares what they think?” I think it’s comical. Most people will say they don’t care what anyone thinks of them, and that’s fine, you can lie to yourself all day if you’d like.

I’m a broken record about this, but, in the last year I believe that I have made leaps and bounds of who I am and who I want to be although I’m human, I still make mistakes. Nonetheless, I find myself constantly replaying embarrassing things I’ve done in my head, thinking about bridges I burned directly into the ground, and people I’ve forgotten or lost. I am forever beating myself up over things that are in the past and/or have no business being fixed/have been apologized for 100 times over already.

I’m torn between being proud of my growth and scolding myself for the past. It’s like I won’t let myself be happy because I feel like I don’t deserve to be. Also, since I stopped drinking this remorse is new and it is raging and I don’t know how to handle and apply it without sounding like a basket case.

For example, I used to lie a lot about stupid stuff when I’d drink. Or I’d lie to save my own ass from something I’d gotten myself into. I used to think that if I was truthful, everything would always turn out okay. When you’re truthful people forgive you, and move on from it. “The truth will set you free” so they say. So when I started to get honest with the people around me, I expected things to be smooth sailing, what I hadn’t counted on was them not giving shit at that point.

I care so much; too much about what others think of me and my character that I sit up at night and worry that I blew it with everyone I know, and that only leads to anxiety attacks about life never getting better.

I feel like I’m waving a white flag and yelling “I’m trying!” “I’m doing better now!” but no one wants to acknowledge all that I’ve done to better myself.

I hope someday that I can forgive myself and take away the lessons I’ve learned from all that has happened.

Here’s to continuing to “do better” and the quest of self forgiveness!

[holdon-goingdowntherabbithole]

Arms weak, moms spaghetti?

When I was younger I thought I had anxiety or at least I said I did. I had heard the word thrown around as loosely as first week couples saying “I love you,” and somewhere in my subconscious it stuck. I started using it to describe any emotion I was ever feeling that could fall into a grey area (really anything that couldn’t be summed up to angry, sad, or happy.) Someone called me fat? I said I was anxious. I failed a test? I said I was anxious. I got lured into a prank? I said I was anxious. It’s not as if these things didn’t warrant anxiety but at the time, it wasn’t true. I wasn’t anxious. I didn’t know what that truly meant. Hell, I was willingly letting myself fail out of high school, and being anxious didn’t even cross my spectrum of emotion. I lied to my parents one summer and drove ten hours away with people barely older than me and slept in a hotel in Detroit and that didn’t make me anxious. I went to shows regularly and let myself be suffocated into crowds of flying fists and people only having a foot or so of personal space, choking on the scent of armpits and 40’s and not once did I ever feel anything even remotely like anxiety. I got in fights and got in cars with people who I’d swear thought they were sponsored by NASCAR, and was wrapped up in more drama than I can fathom at this point and nada, zilch. If I said I was anxious it was a cop out to admit feeling anything else that would show what I perceived as weakness; being scared, confused, angry, sad, disappointed. Saying I was anxious was easy, everyone around me was singing the same tune. I would sympathize with other people that said they had anxiety issues, not ever knowing if maybe they were fabricating too. I thought I had a handle on it, I relished in the fact that anxiety, real anxiety, didn’t have a hold on me but that it made for the perfect excuse to excuse myself from taking part in anything I didn’t want to do, and I believed that it would stay that way. I believed that I was stronger than those that really suffered and praised my mental state for staying intact after going through things that could have easily weakened a lesser person. 

 Man, was I in for a shock. 

 I have never been good at math and I had failed the math section of a major test. One of those tests that we were required to take in high school, quarterly, to prove that we were good sponges, soaking up what our teachers were teaching us. The school graciously allowed those that failed to take the test over again, so I was called to the cafeteria for my second try. I dodged them all day, hoping to run out the allotted time, not considering that I might not get another chance. Eventually, a hall monitor showed up to the class I was in and made it very clear that the prompter had been looking for me for the last few periods and that I would be escorted directly to the testing area. I asked to go to the restroom, I mentioned that I was unprepared, without a calculator, that I was sick, I even tried to duck into a classroom but after walking as slow as they’d allow me to, I got to the cafeteria. I sat down, was scolded, and was handed my test. I opened it up and started filling out what I knew. Within a few minutes I started to get very warm and then very hot, I started twiddling my pencil and got tunnel vision followed by my sight blurring on questions 5 through 20. The prompter came over and asked me to quiet down and told me that I was distracting other students. I hadn’t even noticed that I was making any noise! Apparently I was hyperventilating and fidgeting around in my seat. Next thing I knew I had thrown the booklet aside and ran out of the cafeteria. I sat on the steps off of the hallway outside and sobbed until I managed to get up and make my way to the nurses office, where I walked in unannounced, walked directly to the cot in the back room, curled up in a ball and sang a song to the tune of gulping and air and screaming. I thought I was dying. I really thought I was having a heart attack or a stroke, I had never been so scared in my entire life. After my episode, I realized that a few facility members and both nurses were standing at my side. They gave me water and someone started explaining to me that I had a panic attack and that sometimes, people can actually blackout during them, which would have explained why I didn’t realize that I had been being disruptive during the test. I collected my things and walked right out the front door of the school without any care of the consequences. I called my mom and then I called my best friend, Rob. I felt like I needed to hear myself talk to know that I wasn’t dreaming that, and I had to tell someone so I felt less crazy. I felt like I was high or burnt out, I was exhausted. I smoked almost an entire pack of cigarettes and walked all the way home (about a half hour walk.) Once I was home I napped longer than I had ever napped before. When I woke up I was racking my brain about what had actually happened because surely I couldn’t really have had a panic attack. I didn’t really have anxiety. I was too strong for that. For the days following, I felt heavy. I felt like I was hungover, I didn’t want to pick my head up, it had taken so much energy out of me that I slept and cried on and off for days. But, more than anything I was terrified of it happening again. 

 For the longest time I was in denial. I kept thinking that if I could push the thought of anxiety out of my head, it couldn’t possibly be real. And for a while, I was calm. I didn’t have any panic attacks. I didn’t get tunnel vision. I didn’t feel like I was short of breath or like my limbs were too heavy for my body. I didn’t get nauseous, I didn’t cry at the drop of a dime, I didn’t start shaking or fidgeting my hair or counting my breaths. I didn’t question people around me or their intentions, my chest didn’t get tight, I didn’t start sweating profusely. I didn’t look for an exit sign when I walked into buildings, I wasn’t terrified at the thought of small spaces, or being isolated, or being lost. I didn’t stare so hard at people, afraid of being impolite and breaking eye contact, that their faces started to distort before me. I didn’t feel lonely or like my heart would beat out of my chest. I didn’t get dizzy or feel like the room was suddenly swaying. I didn’t have ticks and nervous habits. I didn’t feel like I was fighting to get words to crawl out of my vocal cords and form a articulate sentence in the same respect, I didn’t question everything I ever said to anyone. I didn’t cringe at loud noises or jump to thinking worse case scenario at every chance. I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out, or crawl out of my skin, or scream til my lungs gave out. I didn’t feel like I needed to google if every ailment would lead to a seizure or brain tumor, or stroke, or aneurysm. The thought of crowds didn’t make me feel like I couldn’t breath. Standing in long lines didn’t make me cringe. I didn’t start forgetting things. I didn’t zone out during conversations. I didn’t stay up all night fighting off an overwhelming feeling of doom. I didn’t choke up when people left my side, even for a minute. I didn’t get paranoid thoughts, and I wasn’t afraid to leave my house. I didn’t feel like I was trapped in my body. I didn’t envision myself having a meltdown in public. I didn’t check my pulse every ten seconds to make sure it was regular. I didn’t feel like a room was incapable of holding enough oxygen to keep me conscious. I had no problem with clothes fitting snug around my neck. I didn’t feel the urge to do anything rash or dramatic or relentless. I didn’t feel the blood rush into my head and swim in my eardrums. No, all of that came later. 

 Over the years I have had a series of panic attacks, big and small. I have gone through boughts of constant agitation that sometimes lasted weeks. I’ve had mood swings left and right. I have wailed over spilled milk (literally) and have found myself laughing at funerals because I was too nervous to be around others and their emotions. I have written myself off many times, coming to the conclusion that I was never going to get better and that I would have to succumb to my anxiety. I have avoided friends and family, I’ve stayed in on nights that I had been excited for hours prior. I have passed up opportunities to do things that used to bring me so much joy for fear of crumbling during. I have put off everything I have needed to do to make myself more successful or happy for fear of failing. I have pushed off responsibilities with the thought of screwing up. I blocked out the outside world, and nearly everyone in it for long periods of time just because I felt there was no point in my being there. I felt forgotten and disliked, and embarrassing. For a long while, who I was had gotten buried under layers of who I had become.

 I told myself that I was stronger than anxiety but truth be told, I feel like I am stronger with it. I no longer believe that those that are affected are weak by any means. If anything, I feel like those that struggle with true mental illness are some of the strongest people there are. I was wrong and I was ignorant to people that truly knew what anxiety was all along. I am ashamed of myself for thinking that anyone that spends all day, everyday, battling their own god damn mind, while trying to maintain a healthy day to day, is anything but astounding. I often think that this may be karma for me, I claimed the role many years ago but once my time came to play it, I was naive and uneducated. However, anxiety has taught me to be patient and understanding, compassionate and helpful. It has taught me that you can never be too sure of what is going through the mind of someone else, so that we must be willing to read between the lines and apply human decency.

 Anxiety, whether I like it or not, is a part of who I am. I have learned to appreciate all the good it has taught me and am learning how to sort through the bad so that I can be bigger than the hold it has on me. At times I still get caught up, I still want to crawl into a ball and let my emotions overcome me. Sometimes I get tired of fighting and I wish it would magically go away. With anything in life, we have good days and bad. That being said, my good days are outnumbering my bad as of late and I refuse to allow my anxiety to limit me. I am confident in posting this because I have been proactive in making a change and have been determined to get better. In the last year I have pushed myself out of my comfort zone, out of my self made rituals to feel safe, away from my “safe people,” away from my justifications, and from hiding my downfalls. I have a long way to go but I look back to where I started, and what I have gone through since - I have come a long way. I won’t give in or give up. I refuse to loose myself to myself. 

 I have dedicated a large part of my life to researching anxiety and depression, what triggers it, how to quell it, and how to cope. I have given my all in trying to help my friends and family (or really anyone that I see needs it,) my help. That being said, I would like to help those that need it, share my tips and my experience with anyone who is having the same issues. I urge any of you reading this to reach out and help others if you can, and in turn, I am eagerly accepting any advice that anyone has to offer.

 Most importantly please remember that you are not weak. You are not dying. You are not crazy. Medication to help you is fine, deciding not to medicate is also fine. There are no wrong ways to go about managing your anxiety, as long as you do what is safe and healthy for you. There is no shame in having anxiety and admitting it. There is no shame in getting help. There is no shame in having an off day, as long as you get back up, no matter how long it takes. Above all else, you. are. not. alone. 

 I have faith that although we might not win every battle, we will win the war.